


The Where's Waldo Job

by jane_x80



Category: Leverage, NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Treasure Hunting, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: Tony is an art thief, a safe breaker, and a treasure hunter as well as a somewhat mythical creature in the circles of the high class thieves. Eliot and the rest of the Leverage team are supposed to recover the many items stolen from the National Museum in Baghdad and the theft has been attributed to DiNozzo. But if so, why is Mossad's wetworks group out to kill DiNozzo?This is an AU where Tony never became a cop, never became NCIS, and instead he became a high class thief, diverging from canon pre-series.NOTE: The Major Character Death is NOT Tony or Gibbs, or any of the Leverage team, I promise. 😉
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker, Anthony DiNozzo/Eliot Spencer (Leverage), Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Comments: 131
Kudos: 244
Collections: 2020 NCIS Reverse Bang, What If? AU Challenge





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for The Where’s Waldo Job by jane_x80](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339271) by [Red_Pink_Dots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Pink_Dots/pseuds/Red_Pink_Dots). 



> This story is for the [2020 NCIS Reverse Bang Challenge](https://ncis-bang.livejournal.com/92131.html) where I was lucky enough to claim [the artwork prompt](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/solariana/7360051/47477/47477_original.png) made by my lovely friend [Red_Pink_Dots](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Pink_Dots/pseuds/Red_Pink_Dots). For some reason I looked at the artwork and I immediately thought of an AU story where Tony wasn't NCIS, and was instead an art thief and treasure hunter. The artwork evoked a certain world-weary traveler vibe, and somehow this is the story that came out. So keep in mind that Tony is a thief and a known criminal, and I have made use of canon plot lines for several episodes and twisted them around in this story. The timelines are also not according to NCIS canon, so please keep that in mind. I haven't tagged for any of the episodes because I have really jumbled things around in this AU. As for Leverage, this takes place in Season 5, where the team has already settled in Portland, Oregon. I have not messed with the Leverage canon/timeline, the way I have with NCIS's.
> 
> This story also fulfills [Challenge 36: Law Enforcement AU](https://whatif-au.livejournal.com/81653.html) of the [What If Community](https://whatif-au.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal, where Tony is on the other side of the law this time, instead of a cop or an NCIS agent.
> 
> This story was beta read by my wonderful friend [jesco0307](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesco0307/pseuds/jesco0307), who, as always made it all better and gently highlighted my ridiculous overuse of the word "so", especially to begin sentences, as well as gave me amazing feedback and notes overall. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your help with this, especially given how last minute everything was. RPD, my artist, also provided invaluable feedback, including suggesting the title of the story, which is in keeping with the Leverage series episode titles, so thank you so much to her as well. She also created two other pieces of artwork which will be displayed throughout the story, even though she had never watched the series until I forced her to catch some episodes of it 😁
> 
> For those who haven't watched Leverage, here is the series' [wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leverage_\(TV_series\)), for your convenience. It ran for five seasons and hubby and I were avid fans of the show. My favorite character was always [Eliot Spencer](https://leverage.fandom.com/wiki/Eliot_Spencer) who was the 'hitter', played by Christian Kane.
> 
> The Major Character Death tag does not pertain to Tony or Gibbs, or any of the Leverage team.
> 
> I'll put a list of the music I listened to in the end notes.
> 
> I know this is a strange and difficult time for so many of us. Take care of each other. Stay safe. Wash your hands. Wear your face masks. ❤️❤️
> 
> Let's get to the story!

**Prologue**

**_Unidentified City, Somewhere in the World (Present Day)_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/nPmE0Ap.png)

Tony dragged his weary body up the stairs to his apartment. He’d gone directly from Baghdad to Tenerife before coming home. Well, as ‘directly’ as anyone with his reputation ever traveled. He’d spent over a week in Baghdad, working with his local Iraqi contacts, before taking a roundabout route to Tenerife where he’d spent a good two weeks scouring the house of Amaro Pargo in Machado as well as exploring the cave systems in Punta del Hidalgo, looking for clues to the famed lost treasure that Amaro Pargo had left behind. Again. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done that before, but it was like an itch that he could just barely reach to scratch. It was never completely satisfying, every time he searched. But he couldn’t stop looking.

The treasure of Amaro Pargo was his passion. His quest. When he’d learned about it, he knew he was destined to be the one to find it. It was his destiny. And unlike the others searching for this lost treasure, when he did find it, he would never let anyone know that he had. This wasn’t something he would ever want to make public. Amaro Pargo’s treasure was his to hoard, and if that made him more Scrooge McDuck-ish than normal, well then, buy him a top hat, a cigar, and take away his pants. He would be diving right into that treasure and swimming in it the way that cartoon duck did his.

As lost treasures went, it probably wasn’t even crazy fabulous. It wouldn’t have the kind of mystique that finding, say, one of the lost Fabergé eggs would have. But Amaro Pargo had captured his imagination ever since his childhood, when his mother used to regale him with tales of the privateer slash nobleman, who started out pretty much privateering, a younger son of a good family with many children, many of them boys. But he’d proven himself, gotten his own ship, and begun a career that spanned shipping, as well as privateering – which, little Anthony had never understood what the difference was between a pirate and a privateer – but doing so in such a way that he was targeting the enemies of Spain, so much so that he was eventually given the rank of _caballero hijodalgo_ by King Felipe the fifth of Spain back in the seventeenth century. He’d been recognized as a nobleman for his efforts at enriching himself. Tony had always loved the irony of that, and so had his mother. Sure, Tony loved it when his mother read _Peter Pan_ and other books to him at bedtime, but often, she was too drunk to focus on a page and would just tell him stories. She had even given him a really old maritime compass that even though he had not been more than six at the time, Tony had known it was important. It was heavy and shone a burnished golden color. His mother had taught him how to use the compass and she had whispered in his ear that he was to keep it a secret. Not to tell anyone, not even his father about it. This was Tony’s legacy, from her family, she had told him. They pinky swore that Tony would always keep it safe and never lose it.

Later, after her death, Tony had hidden it away and managed to hang on to it even through the tumultuous period where he went from boarding school to boarding school. He’d kept it away from the bullies and kept his promise to his mother, for he still had it with him, and he was rarely without it on his person. And now that he knew more about things like art and antiquities, he’d learned that his compass, the one he had pinky sworn to his mother that he would keep safe, this legacy of his was English, from the late sixteenth century, and was quite valuable especially since he could trace it to its last owner, an English captain from the seventeenth century. The man’s initials had been engraved in the back of the compass, a small, yet ornately scripted _ACW_. The fact that this compass was English didn’t take away from Tony’s fascination with Amaro Pargo. He’d inherited his love for the legend from his mother. Amaro Pargo had fought against Blackbeard, and who hadn’t heard of Blackbeard? Amaro Pargo had been successful and rich, and he’d been rewarded by being elevated from a commoner to a titled nobleman for his work on the high seas. Tony had wanted to be Amaro Pargo for the longest time. And his mother had described a treasure that had been lost to the ages – doubloons, artwork, all kinds of jewelry, who knew what else. Tony had taken it all in with wide eyes and believed everything his mother told him.

When Tony grew up, he learned that Amaro Pargo hadn’t just been stories that his mother had made up for him. He’d been a real person, someone who had truly existed, and his mother’s stories only dramatized what was known about the man. And of course, Amaro Pargo had written in his will that he had a special carved chest that he’d kept in his cabin. This chest was supposed to have been filled with his prized possessions, silver and gold jewelry, pearls and other precious stones, Chinese porcelain, rich fabrics, paintings, and all kinds of other treasures. The man had been a privateer, for god’s sakes. Tony could only imagine the things that he would consider special enough to always keep near him and not to just be dispersed to his family or kept somewhere else that others would have access to. _These were a few of his favorite things_ , Tony couldn’t help but sing to himself. These things were supposed to have been itemized in a special logbook which was also long gone, and this chest had never been found. But Tony was convinced that he would be successful in locating the famed treasure, despite the fact that his efforts were always curtailed by his need to stay anonymous and stay in hiding. He had all the pieces, he felt. It still just hadn’t come together yet. He felt like he was almost there, the solution just beyond his fingertips. But he would figure it out. He knew that it wasn’t in Pargo’s house or in the caves of Punta del Hidalgo. That was way too obvious. Pargo had been a clever man. But the house and the cave contained clues as to where Pargo had hidden the chest. Tony just had to decipher it.

He knew it was unreasonable to be so obsessed with a lost treasure, but it wasn’t like he had a lot else going for him. He lived alone, he didn’t have someone to share his life with, very few people even knew what he looked like and sounded like. He hadn’t realized when he embarked on this path, when he made the decision to become who he was now, that it would be so painfully lonely. But that had been the decision that he’d made. He was who he was, and there was no turning back now. There was only moving forward, pushing on, and leaving when the time was right.

But he was thankful to finally be home, though. He tried not to get attached to the places he called his home. It was always temporary, but here, where he was currently living, he’d had it for a few years now. It was like a sanctuary to him, even though in truth he felt at home nowhere, and never ever felt secure.

He sighed and put aside his maudlin thoughts. He was exhausted, and he was only going to be home for a few days before he had to meet the ship and secure the cargo. The Iraqi antiquities needed to be dealt with and people quietly paid off. He would not only need to hide his own trail, but to also lay one that would lead to those who deserved it.

He was glad that he’d managed to get in his little Tenerife vacation in the meantime. Not that most people would have called it one, but treasure hunting was what he loved to do. Everything else was work. But he did have real work to do with these Iraqi antiquities. And it wasn’t like his usual work where he could just leave it to his agents to fence things. This was a special project that required his personal touch. He wasn’t going to just leave this one to his agents.

But right now, he was going to stop thinking about Amaro Pargo and the Iraqi antiquities. Instead, he was going to go lie down and take a nice nap. And maybe the feral cat that he’d been feeding would get wind that he was home again and would drop by for a snack. He’d stopped by the market and picked up a few things, including some fresh fish that he would be happy to share with the mangy little fella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [link to more information about Amaro Pargo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amaro_Pargo).


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

**_Bridgeport Brew Pub, Portland OR (Two weeks ago)_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/a9RtynU.png)

Eliot Spencer wasn’t usually involved when a potential client came to speak to Nate. Talking to people, especially traumatized or victimized people, as their potential clients tended to be, wasn’t exactly his forte. They usually called him in when something needed to be contained, extracted, or destroyed. Or faces needed to be punched in. He was crap at being empathetic and nice was not a word that should ever be used to describe him. But the thing about Hardison buying a brew pub was that Eliot couldn’t just stand by and let him put garbage on his menu. In fact, Eliot had taken over Hardison’s pub kitchen – the menu, the staffing, the cooking, everything. And he wasn’t ashamed to say that he was having a very positive influence on what they were brewing these days because even though it may be the age of the geek – and don’t tell Hardison he ever said that – food and beer were not something you could learn about by reading stuff online. You had to get your hands dirty, and work with the ingredients to come up with something wonderful. Eliot was not going to let anything come out of his brew pub’s kitchen that wasn’t Michelin star quality, and that was the end of that.

Which was why he was actually in the pub when their new potential client came in. She had long, curly dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, exposing dark, vulnerable eyes as she sat with Nate and Sophie. Eliot couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about this new client made him worry. He wracked his brain, trying to recall if he had ever met her. Something about her felt familiar somehow. And that made him uncomfortable. If someone was familiar to Eliot from before his time with Nate’s crew, then they were bad news. Someone that even reminded him of his past made him nervous. Not the usual pre-work jitters that he sometimes got, but something about this woman that he’d never seen before was putting him on edge, for some reason.

They were sitting close to the bar, luckily, so Eliot lurked beyond, in the kitchen, out of sight, at the special spot right by the air vent. The acoustics of the old building was a little weird and made it so he could make out what they were saying where he stood, even though he was out of sight.

“There is no one else who can help me,” the woman was saying. Her speech was accented, English was not her first language, and Eliot thought her accent was familiar. Middle eastern, perhaps. Certainly, Eliot had met many folks from the middle east and was familiar with their accents. But this woman’s was muddled. “The antiquities should be returned to Iraq. They are the property and the heritage of my people. But yet, this man has stolen it.”

There was a pause. Eliot surmised that she must have brought a picture.

“And who is this man?” Nate asked. From his voice, Eliot thought that he was sympathetic to their plight. “We can’t really see his face.”

“It is the best that we have,” the woman said. “My resources are limited. But this man is Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. He is a thief and he has architected the theft of what amounts to be an entire shipping container of Iraqi antiquities.”

“You’re sure he did it?” Sophie asked.

“If not him, then he knows something about it,” the woman responded. “I have done all I can to research the theft. It was mostly done over time, gradually, a piece here, a piece there, taken and hidden away. Some were taken during the different stages of looting that occurred in Baghdad, and in other places in my country. I have done my best to try to find the pieces and the culprits, but I have nothing more than what is in this folder. And from what I can see, everything points to Anthony DiNozzo.”

“Hmm,” Eliot heard the thoughtful hum from Nate, and the sound of paper being flipped. Nate must be looking at whatever the woman had brought in her folder.

“I don’t know how much we can help with this,” Nate murmured. “This should be reported to the authorities. This kind of theft is not usually the work that we handle.”

“I have tried to speak to different people in the US government, but I keep being sent from one place to another. I have spoken to people from the Department of Homeland Security, who referred me to the FBI, then to the Department of Defense, then back to Homeland. There is no one currently doing anything about this. All they do is give me the walk around.”

“Giving you the runaround, huh?”

“So it would seem.”

“What do you believe _we_ can do, Miss Mahfouz?” Sophie asked.

“My father was the director of the Iraq Museum in Baghdad before Kuwait invaded,” her voice was quiet and sad now. “My mother died when I was very young. I practically grew up in the national museum where my father worked. What remains there now is a travesty of what it used to be. These artifacts must be returned to us. It is important for future generations of Iraqis to know where we came from, so that we can forge a better path ahead for ourselves. My father always said that we cannot know who we really are, unless we understand our past. My culture has been under attack for two decades now, bombarded on all sides by the world. We need to restore the museum, and our past, before we can secure a future for our culture.”

“And your father? Does he agree that DiNozzo is who we should look for?” Nate asked.

“My father did not survive the invading forces,” the woman replied, full of sorrow.

“I am so sorry,” Sophie soothed her.

Unfortunately, Eliot was called away for a few minutes, so he missed the rest of the conversation. But he was able to watch the woman as she walked out of the pub. Something niggled at him again. He knew that walk. For that reason, he really hoped that Nate would not take this client. He had a bad feeling about her. He should probably make some calls before they moved forward with anything.

Later, when they got together and Hardison was doing the thing with all the screens and going over what he’d found, Eliot found himself staring at the only recent photo that they had been able to get of this Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. All they could see was mostly the back of his head and his face kind of in profile. In the photo, he had short light brown or blond hair, but hair was easily changed. It could even be a wig. It could be any length, any color, or he could be bald. Based on Hardison’s calculations, the man was probably about six feet tall, probably closer to six foot one, but Hardison had had to estimate because he was walking in such a way as to conceal his height. Eliot tuned out the gobbledygook of geek stuff that Hardison spouted as he tried to explain the genius way he’d calculated the man’s height. He was always a wordy guy. Eliot trusted that the man was six one, if Hardison said he was. One other thing that they knew was that he was Caucasian. But that was about all they could get.

“I have no paper trail, no digital trail, no nothing for Anthony DiNozzo Jr after he graduated college,” Hardison shook his head. “The man is a ghost. There are no photographs of him, no record of him existing beyond the time he graduated college. But there are no death certificates filed for him, either. He didn’t die. He just… poof… disappeared.”

“How can that be?” Parker asked. “No one can hide that well.”

“It’s like he fell off the face of the earth,” Hardison made a face.

“But we’ve all heard of Tony DiNozzo,” Sophie objected. “He stole the Mona Lisa!”

“Well, he put it back, you know,” Nate shrugged. “I investigated that one. The Mona Lisa was returned, exactly a week later, unharmed. Back in its spot as if it never left.”

“Did he put the real one back?” Hardison was skeptical. “I mean, you know. He _is_ a thief.”

“It was the real one,” Nate affirmed. “I’m sure of it.”

“I heard that he only stole the Mona Lisa because he lost a bet,” Parker agreed. “Part of the bet was that he had to return it. All without getting caught, of course.”

Eliot huffed a breath at that. That sounded like the kind of stupid thing that Parker would do. Hell, it looked like Parker admired that. He shook his head at his blonde friend.

“He’s also supposed to be into treasure hunting. I heard he was part of the crew that found the wreckage of the _Titanic_ ,” Hardison shrugged. “The _Titanic_ , yo. I bet his heart went on and on.”

“Why would his heart go on and on?” Parker asked, looking confused.

Hardison gave her a look. “Baby, there was a movie… Leo DiCaprio… ‘I’m King of the World’? No?”

Parker shook her head.

“I know what we’re watching at our next movie night, babe,” Hardison gave her an affectionate grin.

“Do you think he found the Hope diamond?” Sophie asked.

“No. He can’t have. I stole that a few years ago,” Parker shrugged. “I still have it.”

Nate rolled his eyes.

“All of these are rumors, though,” Eliot interjected. “Technically, none of us have laid eyes on him. No one I know has worked with him. Have any of your contacts worked with him?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“I told you, man! He’s a ghost!” Hardison threw up his hands. “Nothing. Na-da. Not a thing past his college graduation.”

“If we don’t know anything about him now, what _do_ we know about his past?” Nate asked.

“We can start from the beginning,” Hardison clicked and a photo of a young boy and a beautiful woman appeared. The boy was wearing a sailor suit. “This is Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr and his mother, Elizabeth.” DiNozzo was sweet faced and chubby cheeked, exceedingly cute. He was a couple of years older than Eliot. “By all accounts, Anthony was a quiet child. His report cards showed all As, and any negative feedback from his teachers tended to be that he was too much of a loner and had trouble making friends.”

“If he had to wear that sailor suit to school, I can see why the poor kid never made friends,” Eliot snorted. “He’d have had to be beaten up if he showed up to school dressed like that.”

“Kids are so cruel,” Sophie shook her head.

“His mother died when he was eight,” Hardison continued, and the screen displayed her obituary, so they could all see her name, her birthdate, her date of death.

“Wait, his mother was born a Paddington?” Sophie asked. “Seriously?”

“Yup,” Hardison nodded. “Elizabeth DiNozzo was born Elizabeth Amara Paddington, the only daughter of Bernard Paddington, who was an actual English lord.”

“He’s the nephew of the current Lord Paddington!” Sophie made a face. “Clive’s nephew?”

“Why? Is he closer to the throne than you are?” Nate joked, nudging her.

Sophie glared at him, which Eliot read to be yes, in fact, this guy they were looking at was closer to the throne than Sophie was.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hardison picked up the narrative again. “Elizabeth died when Anthony Jr was eight. He was shipped off to boarding school directly after that, where he continued to get straight As, and from what I can tell, was bullied a lot. He persisted to have trouble making friends, according to his teachers. But he kept his nose to the books.”

“Boarding school at eight?” Eliot shook his head.

“He didn’t even get to leave for vacation. He was one of those kids that stayed in school even during all the holidays and summer breaks,” Hardison made a face. “I mean, yeah, there are plenty of kids in the world who have it worse off than he did, but it sure looks like a lonely life.”

“What happened to his father?” Nate asked, frowning. He never liked it when children were mistreated. “Why didn’t the kid go home to his dad?”

“Well, funny you should ask,” Hardison clicked, and a good looking, older gentleman appeared on the screen. He was dressed in a suit – designer from what Eliot could tell – tailored to fit him. Not some off the rack purchase. He had a square jaw, a charming smile, he was, as Hardison’s Nana would call it, dapper. “This is Anthony D. DiNozzo Senior. On paper, he’s a businessman. But in reality, he’s nothing but a two-bit conman. And I say that, because to call him a grifter would be an insult to Sophie.”

Sophie gave him a smile and a nod. “There is a difference,” she asserted.

“Yeah, and this guy? He’s a conman. He cons people into investing with him, and then loses their money. Normal, everyday people have gone bankrupt because of him. He also cons rich people, but you know, so do we so we can’t judge.”

“But we help people when we pull a job,” Sophie objected.

“True. This guy mostly hurts people for profit,” Hardison nodded.

“He sounds like who we should be going after,” Parker frowned.

“Yeah. He kind of does,” Hardison agreed. “He also tends to marry rich women, and then make off with their money. All of these women?” Hardison clicked and the screen showed a number of women, all of them beautiful. “He married them, and he ended up with a lot of money after every divorce.”

“Elizabeth Paddington would’ve had a fortune as well,” Sophie murmured.

“Yeah, and Senior? He spent it all. Even the money Elizabeth had earmarked for her son. And not on Junior’s education. He frittered it away, even though it wasn’t a piddling inheritance. By the time DiNozzo Jr was college bound, the trust fund in his name had been emptied and he had no money for college.”

“I _hate_ Senior,” Parker growled.

“Well, Junior didn’t stay the quiet little thing, though. He was having some trouble towards the end of his high school years. He’d been a good kid, kept his nose clean, worked to get good grades, until his junior year of high school. Something snapped, and he changed. Got terrible grades, and he was kicked out of no less than six high class boarding schools on the Eastern seaboard that year.”

“Probably decided his father wasn’t going to ever bring him home,” Sophie said, her voice soft with understanding. “He tried being good and he wasn’t rewarded, so he tried being bad.”

“Yeah, well, it still didn’t get him sent home. He got sent to military school instead,” Hardison shrugged. A picture of a serious looking teenager in a militaristic uniform graced their screen. “For whatever reason, he stopped being a dick. He excelled here, made the Dean’s list. Must’ve had a growth spurt somewhere along the way because he got to be on the varsity basketball team. And luckily for him, he got an athletic scholarship to Ohio State University so the fact that his dad stole his trust fund didn’t matter. He still went to college. Majored in Physical Education and Music. He had been a member of the Alpha Chi Delta fraternity. He was on a basketball scholarship and he even walked on to the football team. He was a running back.”

“Wait, Tony DiNozzo?” Nate raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Running back for OSU. Yeah, I remember watching some games where he played.”

There were pictures of the college age young man, tall and slender. He was always smiling and goofing off in all the pictures that Hardison displayed. Very different from the serious photos from his childhood.

“He lost his shot to the NFL when he got his leg broken in two places during a game against Michigan,” Hardison sighed.

“Yeah, I remember that. Crying shame,” Nate shook his head. “Kid was good. He had a lot of potential.”

“There were scouts there for him at that game,” Hardison agreed. “He recovered, though. His senior year, the basketball team made it to the Final Four! We’re talking the big dance, baby! NCAA Final Four! He was out walking the night before their game, and this happened…” Next on the screen was an old newspaper cutting, the _Baltimore Sun_. There was a picture of Tony DiNozzo with a small boy clinging to his back as he ran out of what appeared to be a building engulfed in flames. “He saved the boy, Jason King. He carried him out of the fire on his back.”

“Wait, so this kid was out walking in a random city, heard cries for help, and he ran into a burning building and saved a little boy?” Nate demanded.

“Yup,” Hardison popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“He sounds like someone we should give a medal to,” Parker pursed her lips. “Where did he go bad?”

“I don’t know,” Hardison sounded perplexed. “I mean, he saved this kid. He didn’t have to go running into that building. He was just a kid himself. But he went in there and he got that kid out. He didn’t play in the game the next day because he was suffering from smoke inhalation. His team lost. Then he graduated at the end of that semester, and that’s when I lost him.”

“So how do we get from this – a kid who’s worked hard to make something of himself without any support from his only living parent, a kid who would run into a burning building and come out carrying a child, to someone who would steal Iraqi antiquities for profit?” Sophie asked.

“Well, how did any of us get to where we were before we joined this crew?” Parker commented philosophically.

“Did he have any contact with his father? Maybe dear old dad led him down the dark path?” Eliot asked.

“Nope. Not as far as I can tell. The old man is still wheeling and dealing and conning people left and right. He claims his son is a catalog model, but I can’t find anything on Tony Junior. Not on any catalog, print and online, and I checked every country and every language. And I got bupkis. He’s not a missing person, and he’s not presumed dead, but he’s just vanished. Senior hasn’t given a shit about his son, far as I can tell, since ever, and I can’t find anything that tells me they’re in contact now, so he’s probably just making shit up about his own kid. Tony Junior’s not someone I’ve been able to locate.”

“How can that be?” Nate asked Hardison.

“He knows some really good hackers, I suppose? And he’s _really_ crazy about hiding his tracks? That’s all I got,” Hardison sighed.

“Any known associates?” Nate asked.

“Kind of? I mean, most of us in the game tend to have our own support network of people who probably have no idea what we do, you know?” Hardison made a face. “I would guess maybe this chick?” He clicked the remote and another picture appeared, a woman with black hair in two pigtails, very pale skin, heavy dark goth makeup, and a spiderweb tattooed on her neck. “This is Abigail Sciuto. She’s a forensic scientist by day, kind of quirky, as you might tell, goth mistress of the dark by night. She’s incredible, one of the most creative minds in recent years. PhDs up the wazoo and works with nuns and Habitat for Humanity. Forensic scientists all over the world are using the methods she developed. But, she didn’t do well when she worked in several police departments. She worked for the Naval Criminal Investigative Services for a couple of years, but again, she doesn’t conform, so the Director, Jennifer Shepard, let her go from NCIS.”

“Interesting,” Sophie eyed the picture intently.

“What’s she up to these days?” Nate asked.

“Works for a think tank. Writes a bunch of white papers and presents at a lot of scientific conferences. Consults for high profile cases all over the world. She’s a real rock star.”

“What’s the connection with DiNozzo?” Nate frowned.

“I’m not sure how their paths crossed, but she’s been the one to look into a few things that DiNozzo was supposed to have done, and she cleared him every time.”

“Maybe he was innocent?” Eliot suggested.

They all five looked at each other and snickered. Yeah. None of them were usually innocent. There was even that time when they had all been guilty of trying to steal the Dagger of Aqu’abi at the same time. Well, Nate had been trying to catch them, of course, but he’d been there, too.

“Also, there’s this guy,” Hardison clicked again and a chubby white guy with dark hair appeared on screen. “Timothy Farragut McGee. He’s a Navy brat, his father is an Admiral. He’s got degrees from MIT and Johns Hopkins, is real good with computers, and he also worked for NCIS for a while. But he was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia while Abigail Sciuto was in the Navy Yard in DC.”

“NCIS, huh?” Nate sounded thoughtful.

“Yeah but McGee left NCIS after a couple of years. He’s got some Silicon Valley job now. Makes a ton of money,” Hardison showed the particulars of the McGee guy. “I don’t see any real interactions with Abigail Sciuto, so they might not be connected, him and Abigail. But my algorithms show that there’s a slight likelihood that McGee is the one to clean up all the digital traces of DiNozzo.”

“Only a slight likelihood?” Nate raised an eyebrow.

“Mainly I’ve been able to exclude all of the other hackers in the world with the skills to do this kind of a job,” Hardison sighed. “Because it’s an ongoing thing. Whatever is going on, continues to happen, where somehow DiNozzo’s tracks are erased, even if he does make them. And seriously, every single digital footprint erased? That takes a lot. Unless the guy is completely old school and lives off the grid and never goes anywhere with CCTV, and like who can live like that?”

“More importantly, how would someone like that steal Iraqi antiquities? That’s crossing international borders, and there’s a network of people who’s working with him if this thing has been done over time,” Sophie added.

Nate sighed, and pursed his lips. “OK. Any other possible associates?”

“One more, I guess,” Hardison clicked the remote one more time. A man in his sixties or so, graying hair in an untidy ponytail, thick glasses on his face. “This one is an even sketchier connection. I talked to this guy who knows this guy who thinks he knows this guy…” Hardison saw Nate gesture impatiently to get him to the point and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, just based on word of mouth, which I can’t really back up or prove or anything, this guy Jean-Paul Rainier, a French ex-pat, owns a little dive bar in Málaga, and it’s said that Tony DiNozzo has been known to frequent the bar, if he’s in the area.”

Both Sophie and Nate frowned at that.

“That’s about all I got, guys. Tony DiNozzo’s like an urban legend or something,” Hardison sat back in his chair with a huff.

“So, if he’s a ghost, then how did he orchestrate the theft of so many items from the National Museum? I mean, yeah, there was looting going on and you can take advantage of that kind of chaos to make off with stuff, but look at the manifest,” Parker pointed to the list of missing items. “That’s a lot of items. How did he steal all this stuff if he’s such a ghost?”

“That’s a good question,” Nate nodded approvingly at her. “What do we have on the thefts, Hardison?”

Hardison clicked the remote again and started off – he went through the list of items reported missing from the museum, and when it was found to be missing. It seemed as if the theft had started during the First Gulf War.

“DiNozzo was still in college when it started,” Nate frowned. “Busy getting his leg broken, getting drunk and laid at his frat house…”

“And busy saving little boys from house fires,” Sophie interjected.

“OK,” Nate nodded his acknowledgement. “We’re agreed, then. This started before he became active.”

They all nodded.

“And it went on for like two decades, man,” Hardison shook his head. “It’s been going on for a long ass time.”

“Is there any chatter that says that DiNozzo is responsible for removing it all from Iraq now?” Sophie asked.

“Not really,” Hardison looked skeptical.

“So why did the Mahfouz lady think he did it?” Parker asked.

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed. “And why did the Mahfouz lady walk like she was Mossad and Komemiute?”

“What?” Parker asked, at the same time as Hardison came out with an “Excuse me?”

Eliot blew out a breath in exasperation.

“Kome-what now?” Hardison asked.

“Komemiute,” Eliot repeated. “Mossad’s wetworks people.”

“Oh,” Parker’s eyes were huge.

“Wait,” Sophie frowned. “Are you saying that the Iraqi museum curator’s daughter somehow joined Israel’s Mossad?”

“Not just Mossad. That woman was Komemiute,” Eliot insisted. “She’s an assassin.”

“How would you even know that?” Hardison threw up his hands.

“It’s a very distinctive walk,” Eliot rolled his eyes. “And her accent was off. She didn’t sound Iraqi to me.”

“You didn’t speak to her,” Nate’s eyes were on him now.

“I could hear you guys,” Eliot tried to blow it off.

Nate gave him a disbelieving look but let it pass, but Eliot knew that he wasn’t just going to let that lie. Eliot would have to either give up his little secret spot for eavesdropping or tell Nate about it. No two ways about it.

“Did you look into the client?” Nate turned to Hardison again.

Hardison rolled his eyes and snorted. “Did I look into the client?” he repeated facetiously. He started pulling up information on the screen. “Nabila Mahfouz,” he began listing her information. “Daughter of Mohsin Mahfouz, who was the director of the National Museum in Baghdad, before Kuwait invaded. She was a little girl during the First Gulf War, and Mohsin Mahfouz was one of the casualties of the first invasion. The rest of the Mahfouz family fled to Jordan where they remained, returning to Baghdad only after the fall of Saddam Hussein.” Hardison scrolled through a bunch of pictures and articles. “The Mahfouz family members are very much involved in the rebuilding effort, leading the way to a new modern Iraq.”

“So did Nabila join Mossad while they were in Jordan?” Sophie asked. “And why?”

Eliot growled under his breath and crossed his arms.

“I don’t see any evidence of that,” Hardison was frowning. He’d pulled a keyboard seemingly out of thin air and began typing into it, muttering under his breath as he did so. After a couple of minutes, he leaned back. “Got you!” he exclaimed. The articles with pictures of Nabila Mahfouz on the screen began morphing, and a different woman appeared. Someone with dark hair and dark eyes, same height and build as the woman who had met with Nate and Sophie, but it was not the same person.

“I told you she was fishy,” Eliot huffed. “Komemiute. She couldn’t disguise her walk, even though she tried to disguise her accent.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to break it down for me, how you can tell these things,” Hardison complained.

“Her walk, it’s just…”

“Very distinctive, yeah I get that,” Hardison interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Sophie and Nate grinned at each other.

“So, I guess then the question is, why is someone pretending to be Nabila Mahfouz?” Parker asked.

“And why is Komemiute going after our ghost, Anthony DiNozzo?” Eliot added. “Given what Komemiute does, they want him dead.”

“Why do they want him dead?” Parker gave Eliot a nod of agreement.

Nate looked around the room. “Let’s find that out,” he said grimly. “And find out who the Komemiute woman pretending to be Nabila Mahfouz…”

“And lying to us,” Eliot inserted.

“… really is,” Nate finished.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

**_Málaga, Spain (Present Day)_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/nPmE0Ap.png)

It had been a frustrating few weeks for the whole team, but especially so for Hardison. Eliot knew that usually, Hardison would be able to perform his geek magic and find out just about anything. He once learned how to reboot an airplane computer system while he was stuck in the office and the rest of the team was on a plane about to crash. Hardison could find out _anything_ about _anyone_. Eliot had never really had faith in anyone before, but he had faith in Hardison. When Hardison claimed that it was the age of the geek, Eliot actually believed it. But even Hardison was having a hard time finding out anything more about Tony DiNozzo, and he was unraveling a little. Everyone had also tried to find out more about Tony DiNozzo through their usual means, and they still had no concrete leads. The man was, as Hardison had put it, a fucking _ghost_.

Now, the Komemiute chick though? _Her_ , Hardison was able to sink his teeth into and come out with some results. Turned out, she was Mossad director Eli David’s daughter, Ziva. She had been trained to be Komemiute practically since birth. She had been responsible for some fairly unpleasant dealings. She wasn’t loyal to Mossad, necessarily. Her loyalty was to her father, and as it turned out, Hardison found out that Eli David was only loyal to Eli David. He had his own agenda, which Hardison was still trying to understand. So, whatever it was they wanted with Tony DiNozzo, it wasn’t on any of the Mossad or Komemiute servers. If Hardison had to guess, what they were really up to would be only trusted from father to daughter in a face to face, one on one, in person sort of chat rather than anything that Hardison could hack. Which made the why of it something that they still didn’t know. Hardison was following a trail, an almost undetectable one, and Ziva David was trying to accomplish something. His theory was that that something had to do with Anthony DiNozzo Jr.

They spent a few days in California, checking out Timothy McGee, but nothing had really come of it. It was kind of fruitless, really, since they couldn’t even confirm a connection to DiNozzo. But Hardison had left some electronic bugs or whatever the hell they were called that would alert him if anything happened that was even a remote possibility of DiNozzo trying to contact him. Then they had gone out to Washington DC, where Abigail Sciuto lived, and watched her for a week. And again, nothing. They finally went back to Portland, after Hardison had left some little gifts embedded in Dr Sciuto’s systems, same as Timothy McGee.

Hardison was about to get to the point where Eliot was ready to strangle him, because he kept getting nothing on DiNozzo, and living with a thwarted Hardison was impossible. Hardison finally turned his full attention to Officer Ziva David. He started tracing her steps, trying to identify her contacts and trying to piece together the mystery of why her father was looking for DiNozzo. Even if they couldn’t find DiNozzo, maybe they could figure out what it was Eli David wanted with him, and work something out.

As much as Eliot knew that Nate wanted to just say that if Hardison couldn’t find DiNozzo, maybe the man would be safer if their crew stayed out of this whole thing, now that they knew that DiNozzo was on Komemiute’s, or at least the Davids’ radar, they couldn’t just bow out. Eliot knew that Nate would never forgive himself if they exposed Tony DiNozzo and then left him to the wolves. DiNozzo might not be Mother Teresa, but they couldn’t find any evidence showing that he was any kind of dangerous or violent man, nor had he victimized anyone. Even the stories surrounding him, as exaggerated as they may well be, didn’t hint at anything insidious. Just the usual stuff for a thief. Although Parker did like him, sight unseen, because of the Mona Lisa thing.

Hardison had managed to go back through Ziva David’s tracks and he found that the woman had been everywhere. Yes, she had even been in Iraq a couple of times, and that was more than they had been able to find out about Tony DiNozzo.

“At this rate, _she’s_ more likely behind the theft of the stolen artifacts than Tony,” Parker grumbled during one of their many discussions. Parker had taken to calling the guy Tony, as if she were already friends with him. Apparently, she _really_ liked his Mona Lisa job.

Officer David had also been in Spain three times in the past four months. Ostensibly, she was supposed to be attending meetings in Barcelona and Madrid, but, for each of these trips she had also managed to secretly go to Málaga, even though she had been traveling there alone, while the rest of the Mossad delegation remained at the venue. Why was she sneaking off to Málaga, of all places? It wasn’t like she was trying to get in some beach time because she didn’t actually go to the beach while she was there. Hardison wasn’t sure, but he thought that she was possibly in the vicinity of the bar owned by Jean-Paul Rainier. Maybe Mossad also knew of the possible link that the Frenchman had to Tony DiNozzo?

They still had far more questions than they did answers, and it was driving everyone crazy. They couldn’t even agree on their next steps. Hardison wanted to go to Baghdad and check things out. Eliot agreed with him. Start the investigation from the beginning. But Sophie thought it was wiser to back off the investigation entirely, because she worried that they would actually accidentally unearth some clue as to DiNozzo’s whereabouts and expose him to the dangers of the members of Komemiute that seemed to be intent on hunting him down. Parker wanted to find him and take him home with them, and of course, ask him how he did the Mona Lisa job. Nate wanted to go to Málaga, even though he kind of agreed with Sophie.

“We can’t expose DiNozzo and put him in danger, so we’re not even really looking for him. But we can’t leave Jean-Paul Rainier and hang him out to dry now that we know David’s been sniffing around him,” Nate pursed his lips. “He might not even have any connection to Tony DiNozzo, but he’s on Komemiute’s radar too. Abigail Sciuto and Timothy McGee are both US citizens and physically located in the US, so they have a measure of protection.”

Eliot snorted at that. Nobody had real protection against Komemiute, no matter where they were. He knew how they operated. “I’ll call in some favors,” he grumbled. “See if some friends of mine can keep an eye on McGee and Sciuto.”

“Thank you,” Nate’s eyes were solemn. “But that still leaves Rainier alone and vulnerable.”

“We could split up,” Hardison suggested. “Eliot and I can go to Baghdad and see what we can find out there. You guys go on to Spain and party on down there.”

“I’d rather we all stay together given that we’re going up against Komemiute,” Nate shrugged.

“Or a splinter group of Komemiute,” Eliot shrugged.

Nate waved his hand at him, blowing out a frustrated breath, but Eliot knew that he’d made his point. Komemiute, in and of itself, might not be aware of whatever Eli David and his daughter were up to, so there still could be other players involved that they hadn’t yet identified. Eliot would keep his eyes wide open and his ears to the ground to see if he could figure this out.

And so that was why they were all in southern Spain, in the seaside town of Málaga, staking out a bar that was practically right on the Straits of Gibraltar. Eliot was going to be the one going into Rainier’s bar ‘Los Perdidos’ – The Lost Ones – during siesta hours, playing the typical lost American tourist.

Eliot walked into the bar, expecting a dingy atmosphere, but instead it was bright and airy, sunlight pouring in through the picture windows overlooking the beach. There were tables and booths, mostly empty, although a few were occupied by families eating a late lunch. Málaga, like most of Andalusia, still adhered fairly strictly to siesta hours, and the streets were quiet, most establishments closed, but given that the owner of the bar – Eliot didn’t really want to call it a bar anymore, given that it looked more like a family restaurant – was a Frenchman, Los Perdidos stayed open. Beyond the windows on the outdoor patio, Eliot could see more tables, with large, colorful umbrellas placed strategically to shade people. No one was outside during the hottest part of the day, though. The south of Spain was uncomfortably hot at that time of day, even though it wasn’t the height of summer yet.

“Sure looks more like a restaurant than a bar,” Eliot muttered softly.

“It’s a Spanish thing,” Sophie’s voice sounded in his ear. “They call them bars, but they’re more like British pubs, offering food and a more family friendly atmosphere.”

“Kind of like our place,” Parker piped up.

“Yeah,” Eliot had to agree with her. “Except sunnier.”

“Hey, man. Any complaints about the lack of sun in Portland needs to go to Nate, since he chose our base,” Hardison whined.

“What else do you see?” Nate asked, ignoring the chatter.

Eliot made his way over to the bar, eyes taking in the room. Jean-Paul Rainier was sitting at a piano and appeared to be playing the soft music. He was actually fairly decent.

“Rainier is at the piano,” he murmured. “I’m headed to the bar.”

Eliot walked up to the bar and smiled his biggest smile. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry,” he said to the bartender, a woman in her thirties who looked like she was half asleep behind the bar. He could hear the Oklahoma come out in his speech. “ _Por favor_ ,” Eliot knew he sounded like the typical American who didn’t speak much Spanish, and he didn’t even have to fake that. He’d specialized in Middle Eastern languages, so forgive him for his poor Spanish. But it worked for the character he was playing. “I’m kind of lost. I was hoping you could help me.” He pulled a crumpled looking map out of his back pocket.

The woman made a face, signaling that she didn’t understand him.

“I’m kind of really lost and was hoping you could help me. Do you speak English by any chance? _Hablo inglés_?” Eliot tried again, knowing his accent had to have hurt the poor woman’s ears.

“ _No_ ,” the woman shook her head. “ _No hablo inglés_ ,” she said, her tone apologetic. “ _Pero, si espera Ud. minutos, Jean-Paul le puede ayudar_.”

“Ummm…” Eliot bit his bottom lip and shrugged, even as Sophie translated for him.

“She says wait a few minutes and Rainier will help you,” Sophie’s dulcet tones sounded in his ear.

The woman held up both her hands, trying to signal to him, pointing to a stool.

“You want me to sit?” Eliot pointed to the stool. “Sit down?”

“ _Si. Espere Ud. Hasta que termine Jean-Paul_ ,” The bartender gestured in the direction of the piano. “ _El habla inglés_.”

“The pianist speaks English?” Eliot asked, as Sophie murmured the translation, “Wait for Jean-Paul to finish. He speaks English.”

“ _Si, si_.”

“Awesome,” he sighed, putting the fairly crumpled map on the bar, hitching up to sit his ass down on a stool. “Don’t mind if I take a load off. It’s hot out there and I’m just so damned lost right now, you don’t even know.”

“You _do_ know that she can’t understand you?” Parker had to ask.

“People always babble when they’re uncomfortable,” Sophie injected. “This is fine. It’s in character.”

“Oh, OK,” Eliot could practically hear Parker taking note of that.

“ _¿Algo de beber?_ ” the bartender mimed drinking. Eliot didn’t need a translation for that.

“ _Si!_ ” Eliot grinned. It was hot in Málaga. He could use a drink. “Beer? Umm _uno cerveza?_ ”

“We have got to improve your Spanish,” Sophie sighed in his ear. Eliot ignored her.

“ _Una cerveza? Ya voy_ ,” she smiled, getting a glass out and pouring him a draft of something that looked light and frothy.

Eliot smiled at her and sipped the beer. It was a good lager. He sniffed it and carefully tasted it, trying to see if he could suggest some improvements to the lager they brewed at Bridgeport. “Good beer,” he toasted the bartender. “ _Muy bien_.”

She smiled and turned away for a moment before she came back with a large wine glass filled with a thick, pink liquid.

“Gazpacho Andaluz?” Eliot asked, his eyes bright.

“ _Si_ ,” the woman smiled.

Oh, Eliot had had some of the Andalusian gazpacho before. He’d dated an Andalusian flight attendant once and she’d introduced him to it. It was different than what he was familiar with as the ‘normal’ gazpacho, because everything was blended into kind of a thick slurry and you could drink it and not have to chew. But it was the first time he would try Andalusian gazpacho straight from the source, so to speak.

“ _Gracias_ ,” Eliot told her, taking a deep inhale, smelling the freshness of the tomatoes, the garlic, and the lovely extra virgin olive oil. “Oh, it smells _so_ good.”

“Seriously?” Hardison complained. “He has time to appreciate the food?”

“Don’t forget the beer,” Eliot quipped in an undertone as he took his first sip of the gazpacho. The flavors burst on his tongue. “Oh my god. This is good,” he moaned softly. “I think it’s the quality of the extra virgin olive oil. It’s all so fresh.”

“Next thing you know, Eliot’s going to buy an olive grove and press his own extra virgin olive oil,” Sophie teased.

“Maybe I already own one,” Eliot countered.

Rainier started a new song, where he was at the piano, and Eliot could barely hear the words he was singing. He picked up both the beer and the gazpacho and moved to a booth closer to the piano, where he could easily pick out the soft, husky tenor, crooning the words as he played. It was unexpected. Eliot wouldn’t have put that voice to the face, but not everyone who sang was young and pretty. But Eliot couldn’t help but think about this disconnect.

“ _Si jamais on te demande_  
_Où je suis passé_  
_C'est facile, invente_  
_Dis tout sans rien dire_  
_Ou mens sans mentir._ ”

“Aww… that’s lovely,” Sophie sighed. “ _Dis tout sans rien dire_. Say everything without saying anything. Poetic.”

“Well, he’s singing in French,” Parker nodded.

“He _is_ a Frenchman,” Hardison commented.

Eliot ignored the chatter over the comms, closing his eyes and listening to the music.

“ _Ne dis pas surtout_  
_Combien j'ai peur_  
_De ces voix dans ma tête_  
_Qui me racontent_  
_Des histoires bizarres_  
_Et très étranges_  
_Je finis par les croire_  
_Et elles me hantent_  
_Du matin au soir_  
_Dis tout sans rien dire_  
_Ou mens sans mentir_.”

He was good. As a singer and as a pianist, he was painting the words. Eliot didn’t have to know what the lyrics meant or anything about Rainier to know that this song meant something to him.

“Hold on, hold on,” Hardison’s voice broke into Eliot’s appreciation of the music. “I googled it, and this is a French-Canadian song. Not a French song.”

“What, a French guy can’t sing a French-Canadian song, even if it’s in the same language?” Parker asked.

“Not likely,” Sophie butted in. “The French can be…” she broke off and Eliot could picture the face she was making. “The chances of a Frenchman singing a French-Canadian song aren’t that high.”

“That your English bias kicking in, Sophie?” Eliot teased.

“He owns a bar in Spain,” Parker agreed. “Maybe he’s not that fond of France?”

Sophie grunted with dissatisfaction but didn’t dispute the point.

Eliot tuned them out again, choosing to concentrate on the soft piano and the voice that seemed to be doing something to Eliot’s gut. And his dick. Sometimes music did that. No matter the source of the music, if it was beautiful, it could still get Eliot all hot and bothered.

“ _Si jamais_  
_Tu fais un vœu_  
_Sous une étoile filante_  
_Ferme les paupières_  
_Pense à moi ton frère_  
_Vois comme je suis pauvre_  
_Face à toi, l'âme saine et sauve_  
_Si je suis fou comme je le pense_  
_Reste là à mes côtés_  
_En silence, sans rien dire_.”

There was a moment of silence of the last chord died out. Eliot wished he knew what the words meant, because Rainier obviously felt the words. Sophie had mentioned a line, ‘say everything without saying anything’. Eliot could relate to that. Although in his case, it was more, say nothing without saying anything. He watched as the bartender stepped over to the piano with a tumbler of amber liquid and ice. Hushed voices, and the bartender gestured towards him. Eliot smiled and waved. A second later, Rainier walked over, carrying his glass.

“Hi,” Eliot couldn’t help but smile at him, still thinking of his voice when he was singing and how it had _reached_ right into him and pulled him inside out. “Yes, of course, please sit,” he told the man when he gestured to the banquette across from him.

“Thank you,” the man said, seating himself with a sigh, flipping his ponytail behind him. He spoke English with a noticeable but not overly thick French accent. His hair was more salt than pepper, the thick, black glasses obscuring what looked to be brown eyes. “Marisol tells me you needed my help?”

“Yes, thank you,” Eliot breathed out, pretending to be relieved. He pulled out the map and the crumpled piece of paper that had a rather obscure address that was nearby. “I’m trying to get to this address and I’m having some trouble. I’m lost, I guess. And nobody’s open at this time. Except this place.”

“Yes, we do take our siestas seriously here in Spain,” the man smiled at him. He had surprisingly full and sensual lips, and when he smiled, his eyes crinkled up attractively.

Eliot told himself to stop letting the song affect him. The man was in his sixties. Old enough to be his father. But his heart speeded up and he grinned back. “Good thing you’re not Spanish, then?” he teased.

“Indeed,” Rainier nodded.

Eliot paid attention to him as Rainier explained what he needed to do to get to the address he’d pulled out, and he jotted key things down on the paper, using a pen Rainier gave to him. He also kept sipping the gazpacho because hell if he wasn’t going to enjoy the tapa.

“Hey, so I have to say that I really enjoyed that song you sang,” Eliot couldn’t leave without complimenting the man.

“Thank you,” Rainier gave a very Gallic shrug.

“It was very good. You’re talented,” Eliot knew that he should stop, but he was kind of flirting with the guy now.

“You are most kind,” Rainier seemed embarrassed, but pleased.

“Anyway, thank you. I appreciate the help,” Eliot pulled out his wallet and left some Euros on the table.

“ _De rien_ ,” the Frenchman waved it away.

Eliot stood and scooped up his things, starting to turn away, before he swung back. “Hey, I don’t know but maybe my friend might have come in here at some point, since it’s not that far. She’s like five foot six or so, dark curly hair, brown eyes.”

“Many Spaniards can be so described,” Rainier smiled at him.

“Oh, she’s not Spanish. She’s middle eastern.”

Rainier frowned and shook his head. “I do not believe I am familiar with her.”

Eliot shrugged. “Maybe I’ll bring her by later.”

“Wonderful!” Rainier smiled.

“See you later!”

“ _A bientôt_.”

With another call of thanks, Eliot stepped back outside.

“Doesn’t sound like Rainier is familiar with Officer David,” Parker murmured.

“Or he’s pretending not to know. That man is hiding something,” Sophie chimed in.

“Let’s keep our eyes and ears on him,” Nate concluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jean-Paul Rainier sings in this chapter is called Dis tout sans rien dire by Daniel Bélanger (a French-Canadian) and was a song Red_Pink_Dots suggested I listen to and I totally became obsessed with it and I made Rainier sing it in this chapter. [Check out his song here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IANeJEmDUD4&feature=youtu.be). The lyrics, in French, are as follows:  
> Si jamais on te demande  
> Où je suis passé  
> C'est facile, invente  
> Dis tout sans rien dire  
> Ou mens sans mentir  
> Ne dis pas surtout  
> Combien j'ai peur  
> De ces voix dans ma tête  
> Qui me racontent  
> Des histoires bizarres  
> Et très étranges  
> Je finis par les croire  
> Et elles me hantent  
> Du matin au soir  
> Dis tout sans rien dire  
> Ou mens sans mentir  
> Je fais un rêve  
> Chaque nuit le même  
> Et dans ce rêve  
> Tout est plus réel et plus terrestre  
> Où je me vois tout en contrôle  
> Aimer la vie, m'aimer aussi  
> Si jamais  
> Tu fais un vœu  
> Sous une étoile filante  
> Ferme les paupières  
> Pense à moi ton frère  
> Vois comme je suis pauvre  
> Face à toi, l'âme saine et sauve  
> Si je suis fou comme je le pense  
> Reste là à mes côtés  
> En silence, sans rien dire
> 
> Red Pink Dots helped to validate the translation of the lyrics that Google came up with for me:  
> If we ever ask you  
> Where i went  
> It's easy, invent  
> Say everything without saying anything  
> Or lie without lying
> 
> Do not say above all  
> How scared i am  
> Of those voices in my head  
> Who tell me  
> Weird stories  
> And very strange /odd  
> I end up believing them  
> And they haunt me  
> From morning to night  
> Say everything without saying anything  
> Or lie without lying
> 
> I am dreaming  
> Every night the same  
> And in this dream  
> Everything is more real and more earthly  
> Where i see myself in control  
> Love life, love me too
> 
> If ever  
> You do  
> If ever  
> You make a wish  
> Under a shooting star  
> Close your eyelids  
> Think of me your brother  
> See how poor I am  
> In front of you, the soul unharmed  
> If I'm crazy like I think  
> Stay by my side  
> In silence, without saying anything


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

**_Málaga, Spain_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/a9RtynU.png)

Eliot sighed, expressing his boredom and frustration by glaring at the statue of some guy or other, the white of its surface practically glowing in the darkness of the antique store that had gone out of business and left to its own devices. There were other figurines of Mary and baby Jesus, candles, an ornate cross, sort of a makeshift altar. There were old vases scattered about, and random paintings on the walls, none of which were valuable, or even interesting. Eliot glared at the statue, even though he knew that in time, he would have to blink first.

Hardison had established a temporary base of operations in the basement of the derelict building while they surveilled Rainier. They had decided to stay in Málaga even though there was no evidence that the Frenchman was in contact with anyone, especially since Hardison found out that Officer David had gone to ground and disappeared off the grid while traveling in Germany, so there was a chance that she could be coming after Rainier. Eliot was grateful that Nate had decided to stay.

They had put bugs and cameras in Los Perdidos, Rainier’s bar, but had been unable to gain access to Rainier’s apartment. The man guarded his private life fiercely and in a unique fashion. He owned the building his apartment was in outright, and it wasn’t a high rise. It was two-story affair with two units, one upstairs and one downstairs. And the downstairs apartment was vacant, which meant that Rainier lived in the building alone. Normally, it would be no trouble for Nate and his team to infiltrate an apartment and put eyes and ears on everything, but this time it was proving to be a challenge.

The first time Parker went up the stairs to the second floor of that building after they watched Rainier leave to go to the bar, a child came out of the woodworks somewhere, yelling up at her in Spanish, asking a lot of questions, and drawing attention to her. She banged on the door, pretending to be a visitor, but the kid just would not let up, forcing her to abandon the attempt at a quiet break in.

Her second attempt, this time silently jumping up to the second floor balcony in the back, quickly moving to the back door, was interrupted by another child suddenly appearing on the ground floor, yelling up to her in a torrent of Spanish. She had been forced to bang on the door again, a pretense at knocking even though she knew full well no one was home, before coming down and glaring at the kid.

“I think Monsieur Rainier has taken a page out of Sherlock Holmes’ playbook,” Nate commented.

“He’s using the kids as his lookouts?” Hardison exclaimed.

“Looks like it,” Nate blew out a frustrated breath.

“Street kids, too,” Eliot agreed. “So they’d be checking out his place even at nights, if we were to break in while he was home and presumably asleep.”

“Can’t we bribe them?” Sophie asked. “Pay them more money than Rainier?”

“Doubtful,” Parker answered. “If I were getting steady money for something as easy as watching some guy’s house, I wouldn’t take money from a stranger and jeopardize my steady income.”

“What if it was a lot of money?” Nate asked.

“It would depend. Yeah, you might find someone willing to take the cash and break the trust and the agreement that’s obviously in place with the lot of them,” Parker mused. “But since it’s not just one kid but a whole bunch of them, they would know that this kind of betrayal and possible loss of the steady income afterwards for the whole group of them, that wouldn’t be tolerated. They would be outcast.”

“So, not a good move, then, trying to bribe them?”

“They’d probably tell Rainier about it and put him on to us,” Eliot added.

“He probably already knows that someone’s tried to break into his place twice now,” Parker scrunched up her nose. “And both times it was me, so I can’t show my face again.”

“OK, so what _can_ we do to keep an eye on him?” Sophie asked.

“If we can’t break in, and can’t get past the kids…” Nate started at the same time. “Suggestions?”

“It’s going to have to be old school. I mean, I can eavesdrop on him and turn his cell phone into a bug, which I will do in short order, but if he leaves it in another room, or turns the phone off, we’re shit out of luck. We’re just going to have to rig something more reliable up,” Hardison pursed his lips. “Parabolic sound catcher of some sort. I can probably get one and boost its capabilities. But a parabolic sound catcher will require line of sight. And if we’re going to be within line of sight, maybe we can figure out some kind of thermal imaging scope of his apartment?”

Eliot squinted as he looked around. “That building,” he pointed out a building that looked to be about three streets over. It wasn’t precisely taller than the other buildings, but it had a narrow turret thing that would ensure line of sight to Rainier’s apartment.

“Let’s get that going,” Nate told them.

Which was why they were now in this creepy old antique store with the bust of whoever the hell that was – a saint? A pope? Some old school dictator? Eliot didn’t know, but if it didn’t fucking stop staring at him, he was going to have to take action. No one would be happy if that had to happen. And yes, he was well aware of how illogical he was being. That was how much he hated the bust and its creepy fucking eyes.

He’d just come out of the basement from his shift of monitoring the listening devices Hardison had rigged, as well as the thermal scope, and was full of pent up energy. They had been sitting on their asses, surveilling Rainier for two days now, and keeping their heads down in case Ziva David turned up. She would obviously know who they were, so now Sophie disguised herself when she went out for supplies. For the most part, all of them were stuck in the antique store.

Eliot found himself sitting up in the turret, out of sight, looking at the thermal scope images on the small monitor Hardison had put up there. Málaga was beautiful and from his vantage point, he could see the mountains, lush and green with vegetation. He didn’t have a good view of the straits from here, but it was still a lovely panorama and it was peaceful. Being up here helped him clear his mind. He didn’t know why he was so thrown by this case. Listening to Rainier occasionally play the piano at the bar through their monitoring devices soothed him. He liked the mixture of jazz and pop, even some classical thrown in every so often, and he didn’t quite understand why. And when Rainier sometimes sang, usually only during siesta hours, something in his gut uncurled. Rainier’s voice just made everything better. It was rare that Eliot could be so attracted to a man, but something about Rainier singing softly and accompanying himself on the piano, that just worked for Eliot. Pushed all his buttons. Made him hot for the man.

And that was part of why Eliot was feeling like he needed for something to happen. He didn’t know if he had it in him to make it through a week of this torment. And yet he didn’t want it to end. He wanted to keep listening to that voice singing softly in French. Whatever it was he sang, Eliot didn’t even care. He just soaked it all up, loving it all.

But for three days, absolutely nothing had happened. Rainier had made no phone calls, and he didn’t seem to have a laptop or any kind of computer equipment in his apartment, none that they could tell by watching his movements in the thermal scope. He watched movies – many of them classics, and many of them in English, but that didn’t mean anything. Hollywood movies were everywhere. It wasn’t like he didn’t speak English and needed to watch movies in his native French, and why watch movies dubbed in Spanish when the man was, himself, French? It made sense that he would watch American movies in their original language. He also watched movies filmed in languages other than English in its original language. Subtitles was a thing, and Hardison wouldn’t be able to tell if he had that feature turned on.

But anyway. Rainier seemed to be quite the stay at home. He didn’t go anywhere except to the bar, and to stop by the grocery store, before heading back to his apartment. A white cat with big black spots turned up every night, and Rainier let it in, and presumably fed it, addressing it as Oscar, giving it the Spanish pronunciation of ohs-KAHR. Hardison had even attempted to catch the poor creature to put a mic and camera on it, but cats, especially half feral cats, were very difficult to catch. Besides, Parker’s sad eyes made Hardison stop trying to catch the cat.

So far, they had had a whole lot of nothing for the past few days. Eliot took to sitting in the turret more and more when it wasn’t his shift to monitor their spying devices. He liked sitting in the turret and watching the sun go down over the buildings, enjoying the sunset from his unique vantage point. Sometimes he sat in the turret and just listened to Rainier’s interactions with people – his employees, the customers. He was always pleasant. He spoke Spanish fluently and Eliot found his voice soothing, even when he wasn’t singing. But when he was singing? It made Eliot _want_. He wasn’t even sure exactly what it was that he wanted, but now that Sophie and Nate were officially together, as were Hardison and Parker, he was the odd man out. Not that any of them ever made him feel that way. Hell, this was the happiest Eliot had ever been in his entire life. Don’t get him wrong, he loved each and every member of team Leverage, and he couldn’t imagine his life without them anymore. But yet, it would be nice to be paired off as well, with someone who understood him and loved him for who he was and not for who they wanted him to be.

Eliot had found a family in his team, and he would give his life for them. But he also wanted the kind of companionship and understanding and yes, love, that Hardison, Parker, Sophie and Nate had found in each other. And for some reason, this sixty-four year old Frenchman seemed to bring all of those desires out in him, and he didn’t even understand quite how that had happened.

Eliot was sitting in the turret after Rainier had gotten back after the bar closed. It was very late at night, or early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it, and it was dark and quiet in the city. Eliot was hunkered down, trying to relax and look up at the stars as he listened to the soft noises, rustles, as Rainier moved around in his apartment.

“Hey, what’s going on with Rainier?” Nate’s voice came over their comms.

“What do you mean?” Eliot asked, not wanting to sit up and look through the screen. Rainier should be settling down to a movie before he went to bed. That was what he had been doing the past few days. He had a schedule.

“He just shooed the cat out,” Eliot could hear the frown in Nate’s voice.

“He always lets the cat stay the night,” Eliot sat up and looked into the thermal scope, seeing the heat signature move around. Rainier had made the cat leave, then he picked something up and opened a door, and apparently made his way down into the apartment on the lower level without going outside. They hadn’t seen any stairs in the floor plans of the building that Hardison had found, so maybe this was something Rainier had put in in secret? And then the man moved into the kitchen of the apartment on the lower level, did another move and was walking down yet another level.

“Stairs into a basement?” Eliot frowned. “I thought the building didn’t have a basement?”

“It does _not_ have a basement,” Hardison confirmed, sounding like he’d just been woken up. “I have the floor plans and there are no basements listed. Also, according to these floor plans, there should not be any stairs or fireman’s pole or any kind of hole leading from the second floor unit to the first floor unit, so either the floor plans are wrong, or Rainier’s made some renovations and not registered it.”

“Well if he goes much further, we’re going to lose the heat signature,” Eliot growled. “Can you track his cell phone?”

“Rainier’s cell phone is on the bedside table in his apartment.”

“Fuck,” Eliot bit out.

“Maybe he’s just heading back to the bar for something he forgot, and didn’t think to bring his phone?” Hardison suggested.

“By going through secret passageways?” Eliot snorted.

“Hardison, based on the direction he’s moving in, can you predict where he’s going to go?” Nate asked. “Eliot, I need boots on the ground. Sophie, see if you can tag team him. I need you to head towards Los Perdidos and see if you can get there before him.”

“I’m on it,” Eliot muttered, getting down to the first floor as quickly as he could, hearing Sophie come up from the basement. “What’s my heading?”

Eliot pulled his hood up and began walking briskly, following the directions Hardison was giving him.

“That’s not headed towards Los Perdidos,” Parker chimed in.

“Yeah, no shit,” Eliot muttered back, lengthening his stride.

“I’m circling back around,” Sophie reported, sounding out of breath.

“All right, Rainier should be right around the next corner from you, Eliot,” Hardison declared. “If my calculations are correct, and you know how I am with calculations. Sophie, I’ve sent the coordinates to your phone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot complained, even as Sophie acknowledged the new coordinates and worked her way there.

“Hurry up, you don’t want to lose him.”

“I know how to tail someone, Hardison,” Eliot growled. He turned the corner into a dark alley, expecting to see Rainier, but all he could see was someone roughly the same height as Rainier, with short dark hair, wearing a black leather jacket, and dark jeans, toting a duffel bag, walking briskly without looking back. “It’s not him, Hardison,” Eliot hissed softly. “Your calculations were _wrong_.”

“There is _no_ way that that is not Rainier,” Hardison objected.

“Stay on him,” Nate interjected. “Eliot, see if you can get a look at his face. Hardison, turn on Eliot’s cam so we can see what he’s seeing.”

“Did you wire me with a cam without me knowing it?” Eliot whispered angrily.

“Nate told me to do it,” Hardison answered. “Nate made me wire everyone, in fact.”

“Hey!” Parker exclaimed.

“We’re hunting someone who’s being hunted by Mossad’s Komemiute,” Nate said, sounding as reasonable as anything, but Eliot rolled his eyes.

“The Eliot cam is on,” Hardison declared.

“Oh, oh, oh, turn on the Sophie cam too!” Parker urged.

“…and the Sophie cam is on, too,” Hardison responded.

“He looks nothing like Rainier,” Parker remarked, about the man Eliot was following.

“That’s what _I_ said,” Eliot huffed out.

There was a noise coming from behind Eliot, and he almost missed it when the man also turned to look. The man was in his early thirties maybe, high cheekbones, the kind of bone structure that would make an angel weep, and those full, shapely lips. Those lips that Eliot would recognize anywhere, forming French words as he sang at the piano. This man might not look anything like Rainier, but Eliot knew that that was who he was looking at.

“Is that… _Tony?_ ” Parker’s voice went up an octave when she saw the face.

“As in DiNozzo?” Sophie asked.

“Maybe,” Nate responded.

The man’s brow creased as he stared at Eliot, then he whipped his head forward and began walking faster.

“He made me,” Eliot reported, speeding up as well.

“What the hell?” Eliot could hear Hardison’s keyboard clicking. Hardison was hard at it now. “I cannot believe that the entire time, we had DiNozzo under surveillance!”

“Apparently,” Nate agreed.

Rainier, or possibly DiNozzo, turned a corner and Eliot ran to catch up, not wanting to lose sight of him. As he rounded the turn, his quarry, whoever he was, was maybe twenty feet ahead of him. The man turned, eyes widening when he saw Eliot, and the ex-Army man could see fear go through the man’s eyes.

“Wait!” Eliot called out.

And then from somewhere up high came the sound of gunshots and bullets impacting the wall by the man’s head. Instinctively, Eliot ducked as well, turning to see if he could identify where the shots were coming from. With a bitten off curse, Rainier or DiNozzo ducked, dropping the duffel, and breaking into a full run. He kept his head low and moved swiftly, and Eliot tried to pursue him but had to duck into doorways as more bullets impacted the buildings, this time targeting him instead of his quarry. By the time Eliot was able to safely turn the same corner that their unknown subject had turned, there was no sign of the man anywhere. He ran down a ways, looking down other dark side streets, but could see nothing. In the distance, he heard sirens.

“I lost him,” he panted to his team.

“He dropped his bag,” Nate was calm. “See if you can bring that back. Hardison, listen in on the cops and see if they know anything.”

“On it,” Eliot ran back to the street where the shots had been fired, ducking down as he grabbed the bag and ran back, taking a circuitous route to ensure that he wasn’t being followed, back to the antique store. He couldn’t get the image of the man, his leather jacket flying out behind him, t-shirt bright red in the darkness, looking back as he started to run, his eyes weighing Eliot, wondering what was going on even as shots were flying. And all Eliot could think was how this man was definitely saying everything without saying anything. If this man, Rainier, was truly Anthony DiNozzo Jr, then he didn’t know what to think about his visceral reaction to the man, even as the mousy, older French guy who would not normally be Eliot’s cup of tea.

Hardison began going through the duffel, bagging things, taking fingerprints and getting his geek on the second Eliot handed it off. The screen in the basement had a screen shot of the man, turning back to look at Eliot as he ran.

“Mmm… Junior grew up nice, right?” Parker grinned at him. “I told you Tony was cool.”

“Baby, do we need to have a conversation?” Hardison looked up from his work.

“I love it when you get all jealous,” Parker grinned at him, making him roll his eyes before he turned back to going through the bag.

“Who was shooting at him?” Sophie wanted to know.

“Mossad,” Eliot frowned at his team. “The shots were fired from a Tango-51. I would guess that if we found the brass, we’d find that they were shooting Sierra Six point five hollow points. That’s what Mossad uses.”

“How’d you know it was a Tango-51?” Sophie asked.

“It has a very distinctive sound,” Eliot glared at her when she smiled. What? It did. He tried to make the pop-pop noise that the rifle would make, and Sophie just nodded and agreed with him, as if she were pacifying an angry toddler. Didn’t she know that these things could save lives? Well. It was his job to know these things, so it was good that he knew it.

Eliot and Parker went out to keep searching for their man, while Nate confirmed there were no heat signatures in Rainier’s apartment and the cat was meowing outside, trying to gain entry. No one was home. Hardison continued to work on the duffel.

Finally, Eliot and Parker returned, their search fruitless.

“Hardison?” Nate asked.

“OK, so I found like ten grand cash in Euros in the bag,” Hardison began, frowning as he listed what else he found. “A couple changes of clothes. Some wigs. A make-up kit. A couple of passports, both with different names, faces, and nationalities.”

“He’s good with disguises then,” Sophie mused.

“So Rainier _is_ in fact, DiNozzo?” Nate asked. “Are we sure about this?”

“There was no one else in Rainier’s apartment,” Eliot pointed out.

“Unless Hardison screwed up his calculations and got you running after some random guy,” Nate countered.

“Ey, I would never screw up my calculations,” Hardison glared at Nate. “But here. Don’t just take my word for it. Rainier is the man I told Eliot to go after tonight. Check this out,” Hardison pressed the clicker and a picture of Rainier appeared on the big screen. He kept on depressing buttons, and the man Eliot had chased after earlier appeared on the screen next to Rainier. “Look at this. He padded his cheeks,” the Rainier image changed when Hardison adjusted his cheeks, “and his jaws,” the same, and the jawline adjusted on the screen. “The hair was easy, a wig,” Hardison replaced the scraggly salt and pepper ponytail with short brown hair, “and take the glasses off, and take the fake teeth out, and voila.” Suddenly Rainier had been transformed into the same man pictured next to him. “We have this man.”

“Is it Tony?” Parker asked eagerly. “Sure looks like him.”

“Let’s see…” Hardison clicked away again, and the modified Rainier image was replaced with the college picture of DiNozzo Jr, taken a good almost decade and a half ago or so. He used a program to age the picture and sure enough, it looked quite like the man Eliot had gone after that night. “Yup. I’m going to say that this man is Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. Rainier and DiNozzo are the same man.”

“Holy fuck!” Parker’s eyes were wide. “We _found_ him! We found Tony DiNozzo! Nobody knows what he looks like and now _we do!_ ”

“And probably so does Officer Ziva David or Mossad or Komemiute,” Nate sighed. “Hardison, can you track him now that you know what he looks like?”

“Hells, yeah,” Hardison pursed his lips. “I’m going to look through a ton of footage and start stripping things away to see what’s causing us to never be able to get a shot of DiNozzo. He’s not going to be able to shake me now.”

“Let’s make sure we find him, and quick. Pack up. We’re going to need to go wherever it is he’s headed because we know that he’s a target. We might have painted the target on him, or we might not have. But he is being pursued by people who are ready to shoot first and ask questions later, and we need to find him and get him out of this,” Nate said grimly. “Let’s go steal us a Mossad assassination target.”

Everyone looked at each other and nodded.

“Hey, man,” Eliot sidled up to Hardison. “We’re going to have words about you putting a cam on me without talking to me about it.”

“It wasn’t my fault! Nate made me do it,” Hardison hissed.

“No more Eliot cam,” Sophie agreed. “And no more Sophie cam. Eliot will pound your face in and I’m going to go have a talk with Nate about that.”

Eliot and Hardison exchanged a look at that. Ooooh boy. Nate was in trouble now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so if anyone took offense at the French vs French-Canadian thing in the previous chapter, please keep in mind I needed to foreshadow this reveal, and also to kind of pay homage to the fact that in canon, Jean-Paul Rainier was French-Canadian. Yes. There was a Jean-Paul Rainier in NCIS canon. I'm sure a bunch of you know from which episode I drew this name. 😁


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**_Just Outside Amsterdam, The Netherlands_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/nPmE0Ap.png)

Tony leaned his body into the curve, feeling the powerful engine of the motorcycle vibrate between his legs, finally now on the last leg of his journey. He’d taken a very roundabout route to get here to meet with his contact. Normally, he wouldn’t have needed two whole days to get from Málaga to Amsterdam. Even though he habitually took precautions, never going directly to his destination, he didn’t usually need to go overboard to travel so circuitously on the European continent. But after being shot at in Málaga, and seeing that guy come after him, he’d thought that overkill was better than overconfidence.

After the shots were fired, he’d run a few blocks, ducking through the smaller paths, and going underground through other secret passages that he knew of, reappearing several streets over. There was a benefit to living in an old European city so close to the African continent and in one of the hotly contested areas during the Crusades, because parts of the city that dated back to the middle ages still had some secret passageways and little surprises like that. In fact, he’d tapped into one such secret passage from his apartment building in order to exit it as privately as he could. It had been a selling point for the apartment, that a secret passageway ran under his building and conveniently did not appear in any of the blueprints. And once he’d resurfaced, he boosted a small car, first switching its license plates with another random car’s. He drove to Marseilles, stopping to switch cars in Valencia and Barcelona, just in case. He dumped the last car in Marseilles and, in the cover of darkness, sneaked into one of his safe houses where he changed clothes, and got more cash and other passports with different identities, given that he’d dropped his duffel and lost what he’d originally packed to bring with him. He put on a different disguise, matching one of the passports he had on hand, booked the first flight out of Marseilles to Dublin, where he then took a train to Northern Ireland, and took a ferry from Belfast to Caimryan, Scotland. Another train down into Leeds, where he stopped at another of his safe houses, retrieved his motorcycle and took it on the ferry from Harwich to Hoeck van Holland. He was now on the final leg, the motorcycle ride from the Hook of Holland to Amsterdam and he was just about done.

There had seemed to be no signs that he’d been followed, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He still had a lot to do. He was tired, and after this meeting he would have to fly out. He needed to get back Stateside, even though he didn’t like being there and avoided it as much as he could, to meet the shipment from Iraq and deal with it, and he’d taken an extra day to get to Amsterdam to ensure that he’d shaken off whoever was tailing him.

He kept his bike to the posted speed limit and slowed down as he entered the outskirts of Amsterdam. He just needed to make it to his little safe house in the red-light district before he could bed his tired body down for the night. In the morning, he would meet the contact that Franks had sent, and then he would travel back to the States and get on with this. He really needed to get this over with. This whole Iraqi antiquities job was proving to be almost more trouble than it was worth, but he owed people and he always paid up. Unlike his father, his word was actually his bond. At least, it was to the people who mattered. And Franks, even though he didn’t like the guy, he mattered.

He carefully kept his mind off of what had happened that final night in Málaga, because thinking about that night would only remind him that his Jean-Paul Rainier identity was burned now. He could never go back to Los Perdidos, could never sleep in the little twin bed in his cozy apartment, cuddled up to that feral cat, his little Osqui, that had decided to adopt him. Never sit in the bar and enjoy the Andalusian sunshine. No matter how many times in the past few years he’d told himself that everything was fleeting and not to get attached, he’d gotten attached. Marisol would inherit the bar once the news of Rainier’s tragic, yet completely accidental death became known. But no one would care for the cat. And no one would keep paying the street kids and helping them out as much as their prides would allow him to. And he couldn’t help but mourn losing that identity and Rainier’s life. It made it worse that all he knew about that FUBAR was that the good-looking guy who’d come into the bar because he’d gotten lost (right, he’d been ‘lost’), he was involved in a mysterious way. He’d somehow been able to follow him, even though Tony hadn’t left his apartment in any kind of conventional manner. He’d taken his secret passageway and ended up surfacing one street over, and still he’d been followed and then he’d been shot at.

Sure, Tony DiNozzo was kind of a bit of a name, in certain circles. And his reputation wasn’t completely undeserved. He was a thief after all. But he’d really tried hard not to get involved in anything that would get himself killed. Sure, it wasn’t the first time he’d been shot at, but it was definitely the first time in a very long time that someone had been _trying_ to shoot at him. _Targeting_ him. And Tony wasn’t sure whether it was his own troubled past or this messy Iraqi job that was causing this, or if the sexy blue-eyed hippy long haired dude had something to do with it, too. The fact that he’d been following him couldn’t have been a coincidence, but unless Tony was very mistaken, he’d seemed surprised at the shots being fired, too.

Tony rode up to the rundown building deep in the seedier end of the red-light District. If it were daylight, he would see the dirty red bricks, the graffiti on the walls, and the general air of dilapidation, which was what had drawn his attention to the place. It was unobtrusive in its normalcy in that part of town. He stopped the motorcycle and turned the engine off. With a sigh and a creak of his back, he got off the bike and wheeled it up onto the sidewalk. He used his keys and opened the door, pushing the bike right in before closing and locking the door behind him.

He put the stand down and placed the bike against the wall, facing the door, in case he needed a speedy exit before he took his helmet off. It was one of those helmets with a tinted face mask, black, with no distinctive markings, and placed it on the motorcycle seat. Then he dragged himself up two flights of stairs to the little room that was one of his safe houses. There was a small camp bed, a working kitchen, plenty of canned food and a small freezer with some frozen supplies, and a working bathroom with running water. Tony took his backpack off before he stripped off the black leather jacket, motorcycle boots, pants and the rest of his nondescript black motorcycle gear. He needed the shower in a bad way after traveling hard for two days.

After he showered, he warmed up a can of soup and a frozen single serve meal and forced himself to sit and eat. Then he turned the lights off and climbed into the bed, fully dressed, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice if need be.

Fuck. He hated being on the run.

He’d built for himself a pretty comfortable life. He had enough of everything, even if he knew that he could never stay in one place for too long. Even if the price was that nobody would ever truly know who he was. But he’d had his reasons to choose this kind of a life, good reasons for it. He just needed to remind himself of them, at times.

He’d been comfortable for some time now. He hadn’t had to scramble and run like this since the summer after he graduated college. Back then, things had been dire, and even though he’d run to Uncle Clive, and the man had helped as much as he could, Tony had been forced into this life he now had, one of a man wanted by the seedy underbelly of society. He’d had to go deep into hiding, and run for his life, forced into it by circumstances completely outside of his control. He was lucky to have broken his leg in college, because he’d turned to the drama club during his recovery, hobbling around on crutches, and his football career dashed to pieces along with his knee, because he’d been able to utilize the skills learned in acting as well as makeup and costumes to help him hide in plain sight. It had been a truly frightening experience, even though he had learned a lot from it and come a really long way since then.

But now, here he was, on the run again. And sure, he was older now, and wiser. He knew what he was doing now, and he had a bunch of bolt holes in place, ready for the time when he might need to hide again, and he always had multiple escape routes prepared and resources that he could get his hands on, but that feeling of being on the run again because someone was out to kill him, that was a feeling he had hoped never to experience again.

He was glad that he’d insisted Franks not send an unknown to meet with him. He was too paranoid to meet with a stranger at this point. Franks had promised he would send someone Tony knew on sight, which also meant that Tony couldn’t don a disguise. Franks was one of the few people in the world who knew exactly what Tony looked like, and if Tony knew this contact, and he or she was someone Franks trusted, then the contact would also know what Tony looked like.

He stopped himself from checking his phone too much as he laid there, fingering his mother’s antique compass in his pocket, trying to relax and get to sleep. He needed some rest. He needed for his brain to stop whirling around, trying to figure things out. He needed some answers. He wasn’t going to get them tonight, and worrying was unproductive, but it was difficult to relax.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly, repeating it several times. He had never been good at meditation, and he wasn’t usually one to be quite so anxious, but he had his ways of managing it. He breathed deeply for a few moments, until his heart stopped beating so rapidly. He turned his thoughts to one of his favorite past jobs – the time when he’d stolen the Mona Lisa straight out of the Louvre – going through all the preparation that he’d needed to do, and then step by step, he went over how he had broken into one of the most well-guarded museums in the world, and plucked the Mona Lisa right out of it with no one the wiser. By the time he’d gone over everything and was, in his head, back in a dingy little basement apartment in the 18th arrondissement, gawping at the masterpiece that was the genuine Mona Lisa, the Mona Lisa herself in his grubby little hands, at that memory Tony allowed himself to relax back on the bed in present day Amsterdam. The exercise had relaxed him enough that his heart rate was slow and even, and his eyelids were heavy.

Giving in to the exhaustion, he allowed his eyes to close and to allow sleep to take him. And in that moment when his brain was hovering between sleep and wakefulness, too mellow to do much of anything other than grip the compass in his hand, a memory came to him. It was the sexy blue-eyed man, the lost American with the hippy hair, if it wasn’t a wig, that is. The man that had also been following him right before those shots were fired, popped into his mind, smiling that charming, shy smile. Complimenting him on his singing.

“You’re talented,” he’d said. His voice had been a husky growl that had gone straight to Tony’s dick. Tony was a sucker for blue eyes. The little boy smile seemed incongruous in the package that seemed to scream sex and a hint of danger, but he’d thought, in that moment, that the man had really liked his singing. And that the compliment had been from the heart, and not some rehearsed line, meant to seduce a single, middle aged, lonely man. This thought warmed Tony’s heart even as he fell asleep.

In the morning, Tony rose early. He checked his phone for confirmation of the meet before he took the battery and sim card out and destroyed it. He activated a new burner phone, pulled on sunglasses and a baseball hat with the brim pulled down low to hide his face, before stepping to the corner to the bakery to pick up coffee and a pastry. He felt utterly exposed without a disguise on. He’d lived as Jean-Paul Rainier for several years now, and only rarely walked around as himself, and just the hat and sunglasses made him feel naked and vulnerable.

Tamping down that feeling, he strolled around for a few blocks, eating the pastry and sipping his coffee, blending in with others walking on their way to work, until he was reasonably sure he wasn’t being followed. Then he got a second cup of coffee and made his way back to his safe house, taking yet another circuitous route. He even stood, leaning against the wall, down the road from it, looking for all the world like another person just standing and appreciating the sunny morning when really, he was watching his building. You know, just in case.

The red brick had been tagged with a little more graffiti since he had last been here, including the front door. But it really did fit in with the rest of the block, so it worked for him. He also liked that cars were prohibited from driving down the street in front of his building. The sign was right on the corner, no entry, except for bicycles. It was another reason why he’d chosen it for his safe house.

He finished his second cup of coffee, disposed of it in a nearby trash can, and took another leisurely stroll, before he entered his building. He would have to leave his motorcycle here now. Tony gave himself a quick look in the mirror, taking in the nondescript t-shirt that he had on, in a color that could be described as yellow or green or brown, or some combination thereof, and black jeans. Nothing that would stand out. He slung on his leather jacket and went down to the foyer. Bypassing the motorcycle, he checked the tires of his bicycle, pumped it up a bit, jammed the baseball hat back on, and headed out. It was time.

He approached the rendezvous point in a roundabout and cautious manner, still hyperaware and trying hard to spot a tail. So far, so good. He parked the bicycle across the street from the coffee shop, looking both ways, still not seeing anything that made his hackles rise, before he crossed the street and strode into the coffee shop. He got in line and a moment later, a man got in line behind him. Tony managed to catch a glimpse of silver hair, a white crew-neck t-shirt under a nondescript polo shirt, and a blazer that had to have come straight from a Sears catalog.

Of course, this was who Franks would have sent.

Tony rolled his eyes and snorted under his breath, pointedly ignoring the man, facing forward and waiting for his turn. He gave his order to the barista, and when his coffee was ready, took it to a booth, seating himself across from the man who had been in line behind him.

“You know, you’d get your coffee quicker if you just took it black,” the man quipped, not so subtly wiggling his own cup of what Tony presumed was black death.

“Don’t even,” Tony shuddered dramatically. “Hello, Gibbs.”

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs nodded at him.

Tony rolled his eyes. He hadn’t set eyes on the man in several years. But he did know Gibbs, and what was more, he kind of liked the gruff, grumpy Marine. Gibbs was all Semper Fi, and he really didn’t leave anyone behind. With Tony’s history, he could definitely appreciate that.

“You’re all grown up now, huh?” Gibbs smirked at him.

“You’ve gone gray.”

“I’m told it makes me a silver fox.”

Tony had to chuckle at that.

“You doing OK, kid?” Gibbs asked.

“Better than when you last saw me,” Tony’s lips quirked up in a wry grin.

“Given that the last time I saw you, you were running from the mob, yeah. I’ll give you that,” Gibbs shook his head.

Tony shrugged a shoulder. There was nothing he could say about that.

“They still got a price on your head?”

“As far as I know,” Tony nodded.

“And he hasn’t fixed this?” They both knew who ‘he’ was.

“That would go against his nature,” Tony sighed.

“Motherfucker,” Gibbs growled.

“You helped me back then, though,” Tony said soothingly. “Franks, too. I’m OK. More or less.”

Gibbs scrutinized him for a long time before he gave a noncommittal grunt and turned back to his coffee.

“Franks sent you a long way just to talk to me, though,” Tony sipped his coffee, slipping his sunglasses off and hooking them on the neck of his t-shirt.

“Not really,” Gibbs shrugged. “I’m based out of Rota, these days.”

“Rota, as in Spain?”

Gibbs grunted.

“Huh,” Tony raised an eyebrow and kept his eyes on the window. “Didn’t think you ever wanted to leave DC?” Tony knew that Gibbs’ first wife and his only daughter were buried there. What he knew of the man made it seem as if wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag him away from them.

“DC has become inhospitable to me for now,” Gibbs answered after a long, thoughtful pause.

“You had to leave town?” Tony cocked his head questioningly.

Gibbs sighed. “My ex became the Director of NCIS,” he muttered. “She made some questionable decisions. People died.”

Tony took a moment to study Gibbs’ face. “You were the one who questioned these decisions, I take it?” he guessed.

Gibbs grunted his agreement.

“And she transferred you?”

“Well…” Gibbs drawled. “Turns out her questionable decisions were dangerous for the security of our country. After it all went down, the ex was forced to retire, and the powers that be thought it was better all-around for me to get out of the country for a few years.”

Tony sighed and nodded sympathetically. “I totally get _that_ ,” he grinned. That was what Gibbs and Franks had helped with, way back when. Getting him the hell out of dodge and sending him to his Uncle Clive on a military transport, under the radar and undetected by those who were in pursuit of him.

“I’m not planning to leave forever, though,” Gibbs’ tone implied the unverbalized ‘ _unlike you_ ’ in the sentence.

“I happen to like being alive,” Tony gritted out. “I don’t have much waiting for me back there, anyway.” Not that he had much waiting for him here, other than a series of safe houses and caches of money and fake identities scattered across Europe and Asia, at least.

“Should’ve let me kill him for you,” Gibbs sniffed. “Even if he’s your father.”

“His death still wouldn’t have stopped the guys he set on me.”

“Maybe not,” Gibbs pursed his lips. “But it sure would’ve made me feel better.”

Tony grinned. “Abby and McSiliconValley are keeping tabs on him and the Macalusos for me.”

Gibbs nodded, grunting his approval.

The sound of ceramic breaking loudly made Tony practically duck under the table. When he realized that someone had just probably dropped a mug or something close to the counter, it made him blow out a long breath, his heart still pounding.

“You’re jumpy,” Gibbs remarked, pithy as ever.

Understatement of the year, thank you Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, Tony’s internal monologue supplied. He knew better than to say it out loud, though. He remembered Gibbs’ penchant for headslaps and had no desire to get a repeat performance. Especially not out here in public, and him without any kind of disguise on.

“Someone shot at me a couple of days ago,” Tony said grimly, reflexively pulling the brim of the baseball hat down lower, as if that would protect him from anything.

Gibbs frowned. “Are you sure you were the target?”

“Being that it was ass o’clock in the middle of the night in fucking Málaga, and practically no one else was on the streets at the time, the shots barely missing my head does make me think that I was the target, yes,” Tony grumbled.

“What were you doing in fucking Málaga?” Gibbs asked sharply.

“Been based out of there for the last few years,” Tony shrugged. “Didn’t know you were so close to me.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

“But that identity is burned now,” Tony pouted. “Even though I liked living in Málaga.”

Gibbs’ expression turned sympathetic. “You got a place to go now, kid?”

“I’ll figure out what my next steps are after we finish this thing for Franks,” Tony sighed.

Gibbs nodded. He slipped a piece of paper across the table. “This is all we know.”

Tony took it and slipped it into his pocket without looking at it. “Thanks.”

“You sure it’s safe for you to head back stateside right now?” Gibbs asked.

“No one else can do this next step but me,” Tony shrugged. “We did it that way to keep the shipment secure en route.”

“Hmmh,” Gibbs’ grunt somehow conveyed that he understood why this had to be, but yet contained derision as well as concern. The man could teach a masterclass in communicating with grunts.

“You need transpo?” Gibbs asked. “I can pull some strings and get you home the way we got you out?”

“I’ll be OK,” Tony grinned at him. “I have my own ways now.”

Gibbs nodded. “I will look into what happened in Málaga, though. See if I can figure that out and let you know who the fuck tried to shoot you.”

“I appreciate that,” Tony’s smile was genuine.

“You weren’t followed here?” Gibbs asked.

“I couldn’t spot a tail, no,” Tony bit his lips.

“I’ll get Abby and McGee to see if they can spot anything.”

“Thanks,” Tony grinned. “It’s good to see you, Gibbs.”

“Get your pretty face out of here,” Gibbs grinned back. “Be safe.”

“You, too.”

“You’re buying the coffee next time.”

Tony rolled his eyes, smiling as he left the coffee shop. He put the sunglasses back on, unlocked his bike, swung his leg on and set off. He took another confusingly circuitous route back to his safehouse, but a couple blocks before he arrived, as he was cycling, a dark colored van passed him and as it did, the door to the van slid open and he and his bicycle were plucked off the street and dragged into the van before he even had a chance to yell out for help.

He was pinned onto the floor of the van, face down, when the door slammed shut and wheels screeching, the van took off. A bag was pulled over his head before he could even try to see who’d taken him.

Fuck. He really hoped it wasn’t the Macalusos. He really didn’t have time for this bullshit. Franks was counting on him and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

**_Amsterdam, The Netherlands_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/a9RtynU.png)

“Go, go, go!” a male voice was yelling, as the van screeched away. He was the man zip-tying Tony’s hands behind his back and pinning him to the floor, a bag over his head effectively blindfolding him.

“What the hell did we just do?” a woman’s voice called out from the front of the van. Tony thought it was possibly the driver. “Is he OK?”

“Let’s just keep going,” the man insisted. “Nate said to retrieve him.”

“I don’t think he meant _kidnap_ him!” the woman yelled back. “Nate is going to _kill_ us!”

“Let’s just get there, OK?” the man’s hold on Tony seemed to slacken off and Tony started struggling, trying to get his legs under him and just screaming his head off in Italian.

“Naw, naw, naw,” the man pinned him back down, his face smushing painfully onto the bottom of the van until he turned his head and rested his cheek on the floor.

Tony stilled when something that felt like the barrel of a gun was pushed into the back of his neck.

“You gonna behave now?” the man asked.

Tony nodded, throat suddenly dry. He tried to slow his racing heart and relax. He couldn’t balk against a firearm. Not when he was zip tied, immobilized, and blindfolded. He needed to bide his time and wait until an opportune moment to escape.

It was too bad that his hands had been secured with a zip tie. He would’ve been out of handcuffs without breaking a sweat. Zip ties were much more difficult to get out of. Shit. Why hadn’t he practiced trying to escape out of zip ties? He would need to do that when he got out of here. Most cops tended to handcuff people and Tony had always been able to escape from cuffs, on the very few occasions when he’d been apprehended by the cops. And he had always gotten away before they could have identified him. His fingerprints weren’t on file anywhere, and Abby had made sure of this, too.

He didn’t know who these guys were who’d grabbed him, but they were definitely not cops. And he was almost sure they weren’t affiliated with the Macalusos. Although, who knew if those goombahs outsourced to these hacks in Amsterdam. They were American, no doubt, but it didn’t feel like a mob hit to him.

He stayed silent and still for a few minutes, no more than ten perhaps, before the van made a turn and shortly thereafter the engine turned off. He could hear the side door of the van slide open.

“What the _fuck?_ ” another male voice growled.

“What have you done?” the woman – the driver – exclaimed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the growly voice asked again.

“Nate said to retrieve him. I retrieved him,” the man holding the gun to the back of Tony’s neck complained.

“I told Nate he should send me, the retrieval specialist, to do this job,” the other voice husked again.

In one of the most inappropriate and inconvenient of times, that husky growl went straight to Tony’s dick. Shit. He really needed to go out and get laid. He tried to think back to the last time he’d gotten laid and… honestly, he couldn’t really remember. He didn’t ever indulge in Málaga. Jean-Paul was a widower and a man still brokenhearted about losing his wife, so Tony didn’t ever have sex as Jean-Paul. He also didn’t like showing his real face around town, nor did he really want to jeopardize the comfortable life he’d built there by fucking around, even in any other disguise. And he hadn’t really needed to pull any jobs in months, not until Franks called him about the Iraqi antiquities and asked him for this favor. So yeah. It had been a long, dry spell. That was what Tony was going to attribute his inappropriate response to the unseen kidnapper’s voice to. It certainly wasn’t because it was one of the sexiest voices he’d ever heard.

“Well, how about we let him go now, huh?” the woman suggested.

Tony strongly agreed with her, but kept his mouth shut.

“Get off him,” growly voice demanded, and the gun was moved away as the man stood up and stopped pinning Tony to the floor.

The bag was taken off his head, and Tony had to blink and squint.

“Where the hell did you get this anyway?” growly asked, holding up what had to be the bag that had been covering Tony’s face. There was the sound of a knife being flipped open and the zip tie was cut. “You OK?”

Tony’s eyes adjusted and he saw that it was the sexy lost American from his bar in Málaga. He tried not to react, other than to begin babbling in Italian and asking them not to kill him. No need to make things easier for them.

“Why is this man asking us not to shoot him?” another woman came up to the van.

“Hardison had him pinned to the floor, hands zip tied behind his back and this bag over his head,” growly reported, sounding outraged.

“No one is going to shoot you,” the woman, who had a British accent, lovely dark hair, and a mellifluous voice tried to assure him.

Tony continued to beg in Italian to not shoot him, and to let him go. He hadn’t done anything. He was innocent.

“Hardison, why does he think you were going to shoot him?” the woman asked.

Tony turned and saw that the man behind him was African American, in his twenties, and not particularly threatening in his build or demeanor.

“I may have pressed this to the back of his neck to make him think I had a gun,” the black man responded, guiltily waving a lug wrench.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, and he began swearing at the man in Italian, and demanding to be let go. The driver, a pretty blond woman was frowning at him from the front seat.

“Oh, Mr DiNozzo, you can stop pretending not to understand us,” a new voice interrupted his tirade.

Tony spun and saw that another man, this time a Caucasian man in his late forties, was standing by the door. And shit. He’d called him DiNozzo. Maybe these were associates of the Macalusos after all. He stared at the man, staying silent now.

“Come on in, Mr DiNozzo. We need to talk,” the man turned his back on him and began striding away.

“Here,” sexy growly man tried to help him up, but Tony wrenched his arm away, and got to his knees on his own steam.

A quick look around the van showed that it had state of the art electronic equipment in it and was some kind of a surveillance van. The blond woman handed him his baseball cap and sunglasses, the latter surprisingly still intact despite the abuse they had been put through. Tony nodded at the blond and accepted his belongings, getting out of the van and straightening his shirt before he was escorted through what looked like an empty warehouse. The blond chick and the black man were whispering angrily at each other, and elbowing each other, in Tony’s peripheral vision. The dark-haired woman clip clopped ahead on elegant high heels – Christian Louboutin, if Tony had to guess – catching up to the older man who was obviously the leader of this motley crew. Sexy Growl man was still hovering, as if he expected Tony to make a break for it. Which, well, Tony would have to give him credit for it. He _was_ waiting to escape, so he couldn’t really blame the man for his vigilance.

Tony walked silently, noting that the warehouse looked like one that was not in active use. It was mostly empty and there was a layer of dust covering most of the surfaces. They walked further into the building, most of it dark and eerie, to the stairs leading up to the next level. The office, when he walked into it, had been given a twenty-first century makeover. Screens covered one wall, and it all looked state of the art. A sturdy conference room table stood in the middle, and swivel chairs were scattered around it.

“Please, have a seat, Mr DiNozzo,” the leader of the band gestured to a chair as he himself sank into one with a sigh.

Tony stared at the faces of these people who had kidnapped him, and reluctantly, sat in the chair the leader had indicated.

“Look, I think we kind of got off on the wrong foot,” the dark-haired woman chimed in, her tone smooth as silk, as she sat next to the leader. A little bit too close for their relationship to be casual, Tony thought. They were sleeping together. They might even officially be a couple. Their connection was clear, even though they were strangers to him. “I’m Sophie Devereaux, and this,” she put her hand on the leader’s wrist, another telling, familiar move, “is Nathan Ford.”

Tony’s eyes widened at the introduction. Nathan Ford? He had been an insurance investigator. Nathan Ford had been the one to investigate his little Mona Lisa job, in fact. And Sophie Devereaux was infamous. She was a grifter extraordinaire. Tony had heard plenty of stories about her.

“The overzealous idiot who kidnapped you is Alec Hardison,” Sophie continued.

“You _told_ me to retrieve him,” Hardison complained. “I _retrieved_ him.”

“We told you to talk to him and see if you can bring him in,” Sophie rolled her eyes. “And by him,” Sophie turned to Tony, “of course we mean you.”

“I’m Parker,” the blond gave him a huge smile. “I really want to hear about the Mona Lisa job, Tony!”

“And the grumpy guy over there is Eliot Spencer,” Ford finished.

Alec Hardison, Parker – no other name necessary – and Eliot Spencer were all names that Tony knew. Hardison was reputed to be one of the best hackers in the world, and to say that Parker was a thief was like saying water was wet. She was the best there was. Eliot Spencer was a name that inspired fear in most people in the know. He had supposedly single-handedly taken out the bulk of Damien Moreau’s men in one fell swoop, and talk was that he didn’t even use guns. He was the best hitter in the world. So yeah, Tony knew their names, but not their faces. He’d never worked with any of them, but that was because Tony preferred to work alone. He had never worked with anyone else in the business, never tried to collaborate with anyone, never wanted to get other people involved in his business. He had really tried to keep himself from belonging anywhere, not even among the thieves and grifters of his own profession. He had never allowed his face to be known, nor had he ever joined any crew. He had kept to himself, and that had always been his modus operandi after having to flee the United States. It was safer for him that way. It was safer for everyone if nobody knew who he was, all told.

Tony didn’t know what these people wanted with him. To ask him to join their crew? He really wasn’t a joiner, thank you. But he could tell they weren’t just going to let him go on his merry way. Ford had a very concerned and intense frown on his face. There was a kindness in his eyes that Tony tried not to respond to. He wasn’t a stray dog, needing someone to feed him. He just needed to get away from this group of people and go on his merry way. He had things to do. Important and timely things. He didn’t have time for detours.

“You _are_ Anthony DiNozzo, are you not?” Sophie asked.

Tony shrugged. “ _Cara mia_ , I can be whoever you want me to be,” he tried now in English, but with an Italian accent.

Ford rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We know you’re Anthony DiNozzo.”

Tony had to bite his tongue to keep from adding the ‘Junior’. Because he was _not_ his father. Maybe these guys were after his father instead of him?

“Look, we are here to stop an assassination attempt,” Ford told him.

“And?” Tony raised an eyebrow questioningly because what did that have to do with him? Assassination attempts? Yeah, right. He had nothing to do with assassins or assassinations. He kept the Italian accent going, even though these guys seemed confident of his true identity. Just in case. But Tony figured that that Hardison guy must have gotten through what McGee had done to block Tony’s face from being recorded. He would have to have a long chat with the geek, once this was over.

“ _You’re_ the target,” Ford said grimly.

Tony frowned. “ _You_ were the ones shooting at me in Málaga,” he said accusatorily. OK. So much for keeping his cool and trying to pretend he wasn’t who they thought he was, but really. As if he would just begin trusting them because they said that he was in some assassin’s sights? He wasn’t some gullible schmuck off the streets. And Sexy Growl man had been there when the shots had been fired.

“No, Mr DiNozzo. We weren’t,” Ford was calm, but firm.

“If Eliot wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” Parker intoned. “There’s no way he’d miss.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ the kind of talk that’s going to make the man more comfortable around us,” Sophie rolled her eyes.

“Eliot probably saved your life by distracting the shooter. And you,” Ford ignored the banter.

Tony shot a glare at Sexy Growl man, aka Eliot Spencer.

“Look,” Ford sighed and rubbed his hand on his face. “Let's kind of start over a little. My crew…”

“Leverage, Inc,” Hardison cut in.

“My _crew…_ ” Ford gave the black man an exasperated but fond look, “…we don’t take any kind of… _conventional_ jobs. We don’t steal or con or whatever to hurt people.”

“We’re the good guys now,” Parker said, smiling sweetly. “Seriously, one time we stole a potato, which by the way, was really hard to do, and we saved the entire world!”

Tony gave her a skeptical look. Maybe this was a different Parker than the famous one he’d heard about.

“I just meant that we’re, you know, we use our powers for good now,” Parker tried to fix it. “We’re the good guys now.”

“That’s right. We’re the good guys now,” Ford agreed, smiling back at her.

“Good. Great, so since you’re the good guys and all, maybe you can just, you know, let me go. I’ll pretend this all never happened, and we can go our separate ways and never see each other again,” Tony interrupted the little love fest this crew apparently had for each other.

“No can do, Mr DiNozzo,” Ford sighed. “You’re in danger and we can’t let you leave without some kind of protection.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his brows creased in a frown. “You say protection, I hear kidnapping.”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ford glared at Hardison when he said it.

Tony blew out a breath, pursed his lips mutinously, and just glared at Ford.

“I was saying,” Ford continued. “This crew, our crew, we don’t just steal stuff. We help people.”

“You… _help_ … people,” Tony repeated, knowing that he sounded obnoxious and disbelieving. Because that made it all better since they were _helping_ people. But hey, he _was_ filled with disbelief, and right now, he really felt like throwing a hissy, so yes, he was being obnoxious. Sue him.

“People come to us for help,” Ford spoke as if Tony hadn’t interrupted him. “Mostly, they are people who have nowhere else to go. They’re up against something big, a big soulless corporation, the mob, sometimes a corrupt government. They’re alone in their fight, no one’s in their corner, and they have no leverage to get what they need.”

“And how do you _help_ them?” Tony sneered.

“We provide the _leverage_ ,” Ford smiled, and this time his smile was triumphant and smug.

“And how do I fit into this?”

“Tony… do you mind if we call you Tony?” Sophie inserted.

“Only my friends call me that,” Tony glared at her, making it clear that he didn’t think any of them were his friends. Not that he had very many people who called him Tony anymore, but the point still stood.

“Mr DiNozzo,” she reverted back to his last name without a beat, “someone came to us for help, the way they usually do. And your name came up as the someone they needed protection from.”

Tony snorted rudely. If anyone needed protection from things here, it was him. Not some random guy off the street, pointing fingers at him. Tony had led a quiet and mostly peaceful life, the occasional thefts notwithstanding.

“As it turns out, she lied,” Ford said. “We would have told her we rejected her case, but then we learned some disturbing things about her.” Ford nodded to Hardison, who pressed a clicker and the screens on the wall activated, showing the image of a woman with large brown eyes, dark curly hair, and a soft smile. She was beautiful, in her own right, but Tony thought her eyes seemed a little blank and unemotional. “Do you know this woman?”

“Am I supposed to?” Tony frowned at the screen, not recognizing the woman they were showing him.

Hardison clicked a few more times and a few more pictures of the same woman appeared, dressed differently, hair in a ponytail in one, each photo taken from a different angle as if to give Tony a full view of the woman.

“Do you know her?” Ford asked again.

Tony caught Eliot Spencer looking at him intently and for some reason, his intense blue eyes, furrowed in a concerned frown, made him answer honestly. “I’ve never seen her in my life,” he told Ford truthfully. “Who is she?”

“She came to us, asking us to help her retrieve Iraqi antiquities she claimed were stolen from the National Museum in Baghdad.”

Tony frowned. “What?”

“She claimed to be Nabila Mahfouz,” Ford continued.

“That is _not_ Nabila Mahfouz,” Tony shook his head. He’d met Nabila and the woman on the screen was most definitely not her.

“We learned that after she left,” Ford nodded.

“Who is she?” Tony had to ask.

“Her name is Ziva David. She is an officer with Mossad,” Sophie supplied.

“ _Mossad?_ ” Tony’s frown deepened. Why the hell was Mossad interested in him?

“To the best of your knowledge, could you have been involved in something that would make Mossad interested in you?” Ford asked.

Tony shrugged and shook his head. “No. I mean, these days I hardly pull any jobs. I pretty much have what I want and what I need now. I don’t go out of my way to make trouble. I’ve got enough _stuff_. I don’t need more stuff,” he pursed his lips and frowned. “I don’t know why Mossad would have any interest in me. I live a pretty quiet life.”

“She pointed you out to us by name.”

“Are you sure?” Tony had to ask. “Could she have meant my father? Sadly for me, he gave me the same damn name he has and a whole shit ton of problems that comes with it.”

“She specified the Junior part,” Sophie said gravely.

“Of course,” Tony sighed. He sat and wracked his brain, trying to think of any reason why Mossad would suddenly have him in their sights. He really hadn’t done anything recently, other than the Iraqi antiquities job, but that had nothing to do with Mossad. Just because Iraq was in the middle east too, didn’t mean that that would have gotten him on their radar. Would it? “She was asking about the Iraqi antiquities?”

All the heads were nodding around the table.

“Huh,” Tony grunted, chewing his bottom lip. “Nope. I still don’t get why.”

“Yeah, that’s not all,” Spencer spoke, and Tony had to hold himself still to stop himself from shuddering at his husky voice. “She’s Komemiute.”

“What’s that?” Tony asked, looking Spencer in his pretty blue eyes.

“Mossad’s wetworks,” Spencer bit out.

“Wet…works?” Tony repeated stupidly, his brain flat out refusing to comprehend the words Spencer had just said.

“Yup!” Parker said brightly. “They’re the ones that you know…” she made a motion to cut her own throat, although the happy smile was incongruent with the vicious movement.

“Right,” Tony nodded at her, forcing himself not to start hyperventilating at the thought. “So, Mossad put a hit on me?”

“Either that, or Ziva David is working something separately from Mossad. Possibly just doing her father’s bidding,” Spencer shrugged. “My money’s on this possibility. None of the chatter I’ve overheard from my contacts say that Mossad even knows you exist. Not officially, at least. I figure this is something off the books.”

“And who is this Ziva David’s father?” Tony’s voice wavered a little.

“Director Eli David of Mossad,” Ford intoned.

“The Director of Mossad wants to put a bullet in me?” Tony repeated. “That’s… that’s just fucking great.”

“It has something to do with the Iraqi antiquities that they said were stolen from the National Museum,” Sophie suggested. “Do you know anything about this?”

“I mean…” Tony looked around at them. He couldn’t just tell them Franks’ business. “Look. I’m just doing someone a favor.”

“By stealing five-thousand-year old Sumerian artifacts?” Hardison asked.

“I _didn’t_ steal them,” Tony snapped.

“They’ve slowly been taken over a span of time,” Sophie agreed. “But you do know something about them.”

“How do you know Mossad or David or whoever this is, is after me? Why did you come to Málaga?” Tony had so many questions now.

“Hardison, start from the beginning,” Ford nodded to his associate, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

Tony sat through the spiel, beginning with how this Ziva David had pretended to be Nabila Mahfouz, approaching Ford’s team and asking them to bring the stolen antiquities back to Iraq. And how Eliot had pegged her as Komemiute and Hardison cut through the front they had put up for her and found out her real identity. How they’d tried to identify and locate him, but apparently McGee’s internet wizardry had held out against Hardison’s hackery. Hardison hadn’t been able to find anything about Tony past his college graduation. Which was what Tony had requested. Disappearing his entire existence had been an option, but not one that he had been comfortable with, so he’d asked McGee to let things lie for the stuff prior to when things fell apart for him back then.

“How’d you end up in Málaga?” Tony asked. “I mean, if you didn’t know who I was or where I was. Or what I looked like?”

“We’d looked into a few people who were possibly contacts of yours,” Hardison pulled up some pictures, including Abby Sciuto, _and_ Tim McGee, and Tony forced himself not to react to any of them. “Jean-Paul Rainier was someone flagged as a person with a remote possibility that you might have been in contact with.” And there Tony was, in his Jean-Paul Rainier get up, really big on the screen in the room.

“We thought you were being victimized,” Parker frowned at this. “We weren’t sure if what we were doing had already exposed you to Komemiute and Ziva David, so we started keeping an eye on these people, even if it was a very remote possibility that they would have any knowledge of who you were.”

“And we found out that Officer David had been in Spain three times in the past four months,” Hardison recited. “Each time she found a way to get herself to Málaga without any of the folks she was traveling with knowing about it or accompanying her.”

“She was looking into Rainier,” Eliot told him bluntly. “Whether they knew more than we did, or whether they were shooting in the dark, we really didn’t know. But we decided we couldn’t just let Rainier be captured or killed by her.”

“And that’s why we were in Málaga,” Sophie’s voice was sympathetic. “We wanted to make sure Ziva David didn’t do anything to you. To Rainier, I mean.”

“We never actually thought that Rainier was really _you_ ,” Parker smiled at that.

“You gave Eliot a shock when you turned around and it wasn’t Rainier he was following,” Hardison agreed, his smile turning into a frown when Eliot smacked him on the arm.

“How’d you find me that night?” Tony frowned at Spencer.

“Thermal imaging,” Hardison crowed. “Saw you leave through the basement, made a guess as to where you’d surface and sent Eliot to intercept.”

“You had a secret passageway! That was fucking awesome,” Parker shook her head, filled with admiration.

“It was a pretty sweet set up,” Tony agreed. “Too bad it’s blown now.”

“Bummer,” Parker agreed.

Tony was silent for a moment, mourning the life he would have to abandon in Málaga, and wondering what he was supposed to do with all this information. Despite himself, he believed Nathan Ford and his crew. Ford was supposed to be a good man, anyway. Everyone knew that. And if he had surrounded himself with the best of the best, and they claimed to be a force for good, well, Tony couldn’t help but believe them. He had an exceptionally good bullshit meter, and they didn’t raise any alarms with him.

“Look,” he sighed, “I want to believe that you’re just trying to help.”

“We are,” Sophie assured him.

“We don’t have a stake in any of this,” Ford told him. “All we know is that it looks to us like someone is setting you up for something.”

“Something that’s going to end up with me dead,” Tony stated.

Again, the nods around the table were hardly reassuring, but Tony appreciated the honesty in the crew. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“You don’t have to tell us anything, but at least let us figure out a way to keep you safe and alive,” Sophie’s voice was soothing. Tony didn’t want to believe her words, but he did. Even if Sophie Devereaux was one of the best grifters in the world, Tony felt sure that he would be able to see through her if she was attempting to deceive him.

“Fine,” he nodded. He was going to have to trust them. He wouldn’t give Franks away, but he would have to tell them some things and maybe they could figure out how to extricate him out of this patch of unpleasantness. He still needed to meet with people in person stateside and this was one appointment he didn’t plan on missing. “I didn’t steal the antiquities,” he started. “Someone has been doing that for years. A piece here. A piece there. From way back, during the first Gulf War.”

“We figured that out, too,” Hardison told him.

“They bided their time and smuggled the artifacts back to the States,” Tony continued. “Not all in one go, but gradually. A lot of it was done within the US Military. Probably mostly the US Navy for the smuggling. But many were recovered by the FBI, and other governmental groups.”

“They’ve been _recovered_?” Ford frowned.

“Yup. I don’t know how many pieces were stolen but all told, eighty-seven of them were recovered and put in a warehouse under the jurisdiction of NCIS,” Tony nodded.

“How do you fit into this?” Sophie asked.

“These eighty-seven artifacts were subsequently stolen by a pair of civilian contractors,” Tony shrugged. “Then sold to a private collector in Japan for a lot of money. All the items were in a shipping container and it was put on a ship to Japan. I was asked to retrieve the shipping container.”

“By the real Nabila Mahfouz?” Ford asked.

“Yes,” Tony nodded. “She made the original request to bring the antiquities back. I was brought in, since I had ways of retrieval that are less conventional than what someone in the government can legally do.”

“And that’s what you’re doing?” Parker asked. “You’re trying to get the shipment back to Iraq?”

Tony pursed his lips and nodded. “I’ve already intercepted the shipment from the buyer, split it up to avoid detection, and it’s all headed back to the US.”

“That’s where you’re delivering the items? Back into, did you say, NCIS custody?” Ford asked.

Tony nodded again. “The items are going to have to go through the proper channels and then be taken back to Iraq. It has to be done officially. My part is halfway done. I just have to deliver the items back to my contact and they will get them to NCIS.”

“And your contact can be trusted?” Ford’s question was a good one.

“I trust them with my life,” Tony said shortly. Franks had already saved his life back when he was a kid, way out of his depth, no clue how to save himself. Back when Tony had nothing to offer to anyone, Franks and Gibbs had helped him. There was no reason either of the men would now want to stab Tony in the back.

“So why the hell does Komemiute or Mossad or the Davids want Tony dead?” Parker asked.

They all looked at each other at that. And no one had an answer to Parker’s question.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**_Amsterdam, The Netherlands_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/nPmE0Ap.png)

“OK,” Ford sighed, looking around the table. “We need to know who’s targeting Mr DiNozzo...”

“Tony, please,” Tony asserted. ‘Mr DiNozzo’ made him want to look around the room to ensure that his father wasn’t standing behind him or something. “And if I don’t answer, it’s because no one has called me that to my face in years. Just you know, kick me, or something, to get my attention.”

Ford grinned at that. “Nate,” he gestured towards himself.

Tony nodded a response.

“As I was saying,” Nate continued. “Hardison, see if you can narrow it down. Who’s targeting Tony. Is it just Ziva David, or is it Ziva David and her father working together, or is this some really under the radar Mossad or Komemiute op that somehow Tony stumbled upon?”

Hardison nodded, and suddenly there was a keyboard in his hands, and he was typing away. Tony had no idea how he’d made the keyboard appear or what it might be plugged into, but Hardison’s fingers were moving across the keys so fast, they were almost blurring.

“Also, find out why they’re so interested in stolen Iraqi antiquities, especially since they are on their way _back_ to Iraq now. They didn’t care that the pieces were smuggled out of Iraq. They didn’t care that they were recovered. They didn’t care that the pieces were then stolen from a federal warehouse, or sold to a Japanese private collector,” Nate recited the facts. “So why are they so upset about it now that Tony’s intercepted the shipment to Japan and is bringing it back, with the intention of sending it on to Iraq?”

“It’s going to be in NCIS custody first,” Tony mused. “Going to be examined and curated, catalogued, before being shipped back to Iraq.”

“Huh,” Nate frowned at that.

“You think someone added something to the shipment? Another item?” Eliot Spencer asked. “Something that the Davids don’t want to be sent to a federal warehouse?”

“It’s a possibility, right?” Tony shrugged.

“But why would they want to put a hit out on you?” Eliot asked.

“These guys that I got to intercept the shipment,” Tony sighed. “If I’m not there to meet them, they’re not going to tell anyone where all the separate items are being stored now. They’ll only work with me. In person.”

“So, eliminating you would disrupt the flow of the artifacts back into US federal custody?” Sophie asked.

“Yup.”

“What happens to the shipment if something happens to you?” Nate asked.

“My folks will sell the items back to the National Museum, for a premium,” Tony made a face. “That was the agreement. And if the National Museum can’t afford their prices, then the items will go to the highest bidder.”

“So, the Davids _could_ get back whatever it is they’re trying to get by bidding on it, if they successfully kill you,” Sophie sighed.

“Yup,” Tony nodded.

“Your next step is to go meet with these guys?” Nate asked.

“It’s why I left Málaga that night,” Tony tried not to think about the comfortable lifestyle he’d had there, that was now beyond his reach again.

“Have you made contact yet?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “I had another meeting this morning, and then I have to get back to the US for the rendezvous.”

“Hardison, let’s make sure Komemiute or Ziva David or who the hell it is that’s behind all this, hasn’t tracked Tony here,” Nate turned to Hardison.

“I’m on it,” Hardison muttered. “Along with all the other stuff you’ve asked me to do.”

“Speaking of,” Tony’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find me again? Because you know, I was thorough. And as you saw, I have security measures in place to digitally hide my appearance, as well as the other disguises I had. I mean, you said you didn’t know that Rainier was me in disguise. How’d you find me here?”

“Hardison did some electronic mumbo-jumbo,” Eliot rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Hardison sounded distracted, his fingers still dancing over the keyboard. “Once we knew what you looked like, I built a program that makes the most state of the art facial recognition software look like an abacus. My program looked at all the faces, then analyzed them and stripped out disguises, factoring in cosmetically changed jawlines, cheekbones, et cetera, and through that we were able to track you. Also, it helped that I knew what to look for, and could see what you’d put in place to hide your appearance on all footage of you. The little program you had in place there became a good way for me to pinpoint which of the possible candidates my own little program narrowed down to was actually you.”

“Huh. I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or horrified by that,” Tony shook his head. He would have to have a chat with McGee about all of this.

“Impressed,” Parker said, patting Hardison.

“Horrified,” Eliot snorted at the same time.

Tony had to chuckle at the combination.

“Don’t get me wrong. Wiping yourself off of security feeds like that, that’s smooth. That is a trick I am so going to steal,” Hardison looked up and gave him a grin. “And my program wouldn’t be able to just look under everyone’s disguises. First, it has to have something to compare to. It has to know what the person looks like that we’re searching for. Before we knew what you looked like, my program would’ve done jack.”

“I should’ve stayed in disguise that night,” Tony sighed.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Parker put a hand on his arm. “Because now we can at least make sure that you won’t get killed out there.”

“You think you can protect me from the Komemiute?” Tony was skeptical.

“We’ve got Eliot,” Hardison stuck a thumb at the blue-eyed man. “He can protect you from _anything_ , man. Long as you do what he tells you to do when he tells you to do it.” Hardison’s statement, uttered with complete confidence, was reassuring.

Eliot nodded and grunted his agreement. Suddenly, Tony was reminded of Gibbs. Even though he had long hair instead of Gibbs’ modified high and tight, Eliot had sharp blue eyes and seemed to be as taciturn as the former Marine, and all of a sudden, he did feel better about the situation he found himself in. Eliot Spencer was formidable. His reputation said so. And the man himself engendered confidence in him, even though he didn’t seem to say much.

“Have they followed me here?” Tony asked. “Ziva David and her people?”

“I’ve got alerts out and I’ve seen no sign that she’s tracked you here,” Hardison claimed.

“Why?” Nate asked.

“I need to grab a few things, and head out. My meet is tomorrow.”

“In the US?”

“Port of Baltimore,” Tony told them.

“Eliot, go with him,” Nate said.

“On it,” Eliot stood.

“We’ll get you to Baltimore safely,” Nate promised. “Get what you need and come back here. Eliot will escort you.”

“You’re gonna need this,” Hardison held out a soft, see through little thing, about as big as the fingernail of his pinky.

“We all have one,” Nate pulled one out of his ear. “Makes keeping in contact easier.”

Tony took the earbud and frowned at it, turning it around on his hand and examining it.

“I don’t suppose you have a bicycle, if you’re coming with me,” Tony looked at Eliot. “Mine should still be in Hardison’s murder van.”

“Murder van? She’s Lucille the European incarnation,” Hardison grinned. “Or as I like to call her, Lucille E. Don’t call her no murder van.”

“What?” Tony frowned, confused.

“The van. Her name is Lucille E.”

“Don’t ask,” Eliot told Tony. “Just agree with him. Or he’ll make you sing the chase music with him.”

Hardison started humming something that sounded like ‘two good old boys behind the wheel chasin’ down bad guys in Lucille’.

“Stop it!” Eliot smacked Hardison’s arm. “Ignore him. Anyway. Why would I need a bicycle?” he aimed the question at Tony.

“Cars aren’t allowed on my street.”

“Of _course_ they’re not,” Eliot sighed.

“It’s one of my built-in security measures,” Tony shrugged.

“Can’t fault that, I guess,” Eliot made a face, approving albeit begrudgingly.

“I’ll go procure a bike for Eliot,” Parker dimpled at them.

“Where the hell is she going to get a bike?” Nate asked, watching as the blonde cheerfully strode away.

“You should know better than to ask when it comes to Parker,” Sophie grinned.

Nate rolled his eyes.

“In the meantime, we have your bag,” Sophie handed him the duffel he’d dropped in Málaga the other night.

“Thanks,” Tony grinned.

“If anything is missing, ask Parker,” Sophie smiled. “She might have a bit of a crush on you. Plus, she’s kind of a thief.”

“Hey, now!” Hardison objected from where he was seated, his eyes still on the monitors, his fingers working hard. “Don’t you say that about my girl! At the most, she has a crush on his Mona Lisa job!”

Eliot and Sophie snickered at that. Tony couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the shenanigans. He put the earbud in his ear when Nate urged him to, and they did a sound check. Tony was impressed with the little gadget. It was no wonder this crew worked so well together. The earbuds certainly allowed for open communication. Tony could also see how close this crew was with each other, how much camaraderie there was. Even though Nate was the one masterminding it all, everyone seemed to be friends with each other, and there was a certain level of trust between the teammates that Tony had never really witnessed before. Just the way Hardison asserted that Eliot could protect him from anything was telling. Hardison trusted Eliot with his life. That much was evident. Tony couldn’t say for certain but, probably, the entire team trusted each other with their lives.

He wondered how they’d gotten together as a crew, and then remained together. After all, they were, each of them an expert in their own right. He’d heard the stories about the different jobs each had been reputed to pull, and of course, Nathan Ford had been the very best insurance investigator in the world. How this man had turned away from the law, Tony didn’t know, but he’d bet it was a long and complicated story. Most crews tended to come together to pull one job together and then separate. There was no honor among thieves. Tony knew that to be the truth. Up close and in person, starting from his own father. But these people seemed different to him. He was already trusting them with more of himself than he’d ever done, since he’d had to disappear.

Plus, he couldn’t help but keep eyeing Eliot Spencer, trying to do it as surreptitiously as he could. The man was delicious. A couple inches shorter than Tony, but anyone could see the barely contained power within that muscular frame. Plus, yeah. That sexy growl, the squint in the sharp blue eyes. Tony could see himself biting on the man’s lips. The cupid’s bow of his lips called to him.

Tony tore his eyes away from Eliot. While they waited for Parker to return, he looked at the information from Gibbs, frowning thoughtfully at it. They had caught only one of the two civilian contractors that had stolen the artifacts from the NCIS warehouse. He was described as quiet and mousy, as non-threatening as they came, and he’d been picked up on a traffic violation. He’d made bail, and then disappeared into thin air. His partner had been found with his throat cut in a cabin in the woods somewhere in Virginia. Therefore it stood to reason that the surviving man, Jeffrey White, probably killed his partner, sold the artifacts to the Japanese collector, and was probably on a warm beach in a non-extradition country, living off the sale in an income he didn’t even have to split with his partner anymore.

Interesting to note, but it didn’t help Tony understand how the items were being taken from the museum in the first place. He made a mental note to talk to Abby about that. He also needed to make sure she and McGee both knew that he was now working with Nathan Ford’s crew, that McGee might need to upgrade his program to hide Tony electronically, and most importantly, that Komemiute or Ziva David, or whoever it was that made Eliot Spencer nervous was out to get him. If they had gone after Jean-Paul Rainier, it was possible that they would be going after Abby and McGee in order to get to him.

“Something wrong?” Eliot’s question brought him out of his thoughts.

“No,” Tony shook his head. “I just have to make a couple calls. Put some people on guard about Ziva David. In case they try to get to me through them.”

“Probably a good idea,” Eliot nodded.

“And the paper?” Nate asked, pointing to the slip of paper that Tony was clutching.

“I told… well, I agreed to look into how these items are being stolen from the National Museum,” Tony pursed his lips. “I came here to meet with some people to get what information they might have.”

“And that’s it?” Nate gestured to the paper.

“It’s really not much,” Tony handed it to Nate. “Deals with the people who stole it from the NCIS warehouse. No information yet on who’s stealing them out of the museum. We want to plug it up from that end as well.”

“It’s been going on for years,” Sophie frowned, leaning into Nate’s body to read the note along with him.

“We can help you figure that out, too, if you want,” Nate offered. “I know Hardison wanted to go Iraq.”

“After we figure out this Komemiute thing,” Eliot growled.

“After the coast is clear, of course,” Nate conceded.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Eliot had been watching Tony DiNozzo like a creeper, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. This face that he could see now seemed to perfectly fit with the voice that he’d been enchanted with, back at Los Perdidos, when Rainier had been singing. Tony DiNozzo was gorgeous, all high cheekbones, bright green eyes, dimples in his cheeks when he smiled and when he pursed his lips. His lips were full, his shoulders broad. The t-shirt he wore underneath the jacket fit loosely on him, but even so, Eliot could see the toned musculature of his pecs and his biceps. He wasn’t buff like a body builder, but he had the physique of a runner or a swimmer. And Eliot would bet that, in a pinch, Tony would be a scrappy fighter. He looked like someone who would be tenacious, even if the odds were against him.

He seemed to be a pretty nice person, too. He’d been working to return the stolen Iraqi antiquities, for one, and he cared about the people who did know him and might be part of his support group. Eliot found that attractive. Hell, Eliot found the entire package that Tony presented right now entirely too attractive for comfort.

He was glad when Parker came back with a bicycle for him, even though Hardison started wheezing with laughter. The bike was pink, for one, with a basket filled with a variety of fresh flowers on the handlebar. She wheeled it in and turned it over to Eliot with real pride.

Eliot looked into Parker’s earnest face and sighed. He always gave in to those hazel eyes, especially when she thought she was doing something nice. He could tell that Parker had chosen the bike she genuinely believed to be most appropriate. It was probably a bike that she had wished she had as a child. He didn’t have the heart to yell at her about bringing him a pink bike with flowers, even if Hardison was guffawing at it.

He glared at Hardison though, silently promising a painful death to him if he did not stop, and Hardison, bless his heart, he did stop laughing when he saw that earnest look in Parker’s eyes. Say what you will about him, but Hardison loved Parker and would never allow himself to hurt her feelings, not with something that went back to the trauma Parker had suffered as a child. Whatever else was going on between them, Hardison had always been the one to best understand Parker and her inner workings.

“Yeah, baby,” Hardison smiled at the blonde. “You chose the perfect bike.”

“Right?” she smiled that happy, sweet smile that she reserved for these quiet moments of personal triumph. “It’s a seven-speed, no issues with the gear change that I could detect. It works really well.”

“The flowers were a lovely touch, Parker,” Sophie’s smile was gentle.

“Thank you. I thought so, too,” Parker grinned proudly.

Eliot watched as Tony DiNozzo watched this interaction, openly curious about the team. Well, who could blame the man for being curious. Hardison had basically kidnapped him off the streets of Amsterdam and he’d been brought, bound and blindfolded, to meet the team and then been told that some very dangerous people were out for his blood. All told, Eliot thought they should count it a victory if Tony didn’t try to run at the first opportunity that he could. But he seemed to believe them that Ziva David and whoever she was working for were serious about killing him, and that Nate and their team were working hard to ensure that that didn’t happen. With any luck, Eliot wouldn’t have to do anything drastic to keep him from running off and allow him to do his job.

After all those years where Eliot’s primary job was death and destruction – yes, all for the good of the country, blah blah blah – it was nice to be part of a team where now, he felt that his primary job was to keep his teammates, and their clients safe. It was an interesting twist on how his fucked up life had turned out.

“Here,” Parker’s voice got Eliot’s attention.

He watched as Parker gave Tony a different jacket and switched out the baseball hat with a soft, wide brimmed hat. Tony took the wardrobe change with no objections. Hardison had fetched his bike from Lucille E. Eliot just about kicked himself for referring to the frickin’ van as Lucille E, but Hardison was a stickler for his vans. Eliot didn’t even know why he fought it anymore, but it wouldn’t do to allow Alec to think that he’d win every time.

“I’ll drum up a new identification and figure out a way to get you to Baltimore while you’re gone,” Hardison told Tony.

“Thanks,” Tony gave him a small smile, and Eliot’s heart skipped a bit when his cheeks creased into deep dimples at the move.

Shit. The man was ridiculously attractive. Eliot couldn’t even juxtapose the image of middle-aged, pony tailed Jean-Paul Rainier over the cleanshaven young man that he’d turned out to be.

Eliot pulled his hair into a ponytail and followed Tony outside, both of them wheeling their bikes. Tony swung his leg over his bike and gave Eliot a questioning look.

“Let’s move out,” Eliot told him.

They pushed off and Eliot followed Tony as he led them in another circuitous route back to his safe house. Once there, they wheeled the bikes in and Eliot cleared the entire building, including checking for electronic surveillance. Happily, it was clean.

It was an interesting place. The first floor used to be a storefront for a currency exchanger or maybe a pawn shop or something. Upstairs was a small apartment where, presumably, the store owner used to live. Tony kept it tidy and sparse. Downstairs, the only thing of note was the motorcycle leaning against the wall with a helmet on its seat, facing the door.

Tony started going about his business once Eliot gave him the all clear. Eliot watched as he ran around and quickly packed some things into a backpack. Then Tony took a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, remove the sim card and destroy it before he pulled a brand-new burner phone out of its packaging, activated it, and began sending texts or emails. Eliot frowned, unsure if this was wise.

“I’m just making sure that my… network, I guess you could call them, that they’re aware that there’s another credible threat to my life,” Tony explained. “They need to be warned, in case they’re in danger, too. Plus, they need to know that even though fundamentally, my plans haven’t changed, they have to know there are some new players. Like you guys.”

“Will they be able to help figure out what the hell Ziva David might be up to?” Eliot asked.

“Another possible side benefit, sure,” Tony agreed, turning back to the phone, his thumbs moving quickly as he continued with his correspondence.

Eliot could practically see Tony count off the tasks he needed to get done before they could leave. Then he realized what Tony had said first.

“ _Another_ credible threat to your life?” Eliot glared at him. “You guys hearing this?” he checked in with the team over their comms.

“I hear it,” Nate murmured in his ear.

“That is so weird,” Tony had startled at Nate’s voice. “I don’t work with a crew.”

“Partners?” Eliot asked.

Tony shook his head.

Interesting, Eliot thought. Even he had associates that he’d worked with over the years, before he hooked up with Nate and the rest of the team. It was both impressive and kind of horrifying to think about how Tony had apparently kept himself apart from everything, and not made any real connections with people.

“Yeah, you get used to it pretty quickly,” Eliot shrugged, pointing to his ear. “I barely even notice it anymore. These days, mostly I notice when I _don’t_ have chatter in my ear if we’re on a job. It’s an uncomfortable feeling when that happens.”

“Awww Eliot, I knew that you loved us,” Hardison teased.

“I will break your arm when I see you,” Eliot threatened him. “I honestly don’t like not being able to be in contact with everyone at all times when we’re working.”

“You’re just freaky, that what you’re saying?” Hardison joked again, making Eliot roll his eyes. “Tony, did Eliot just roll his eyes?”

“Yeah,” Tony confirmed it, grinning at Eliot, and he felt his face heat up. Tony’s eyes lit up with mischief – and they were green, unless he was wearing contact lenses to hide the color of his eyes – and he flashed his dimples at Eliot. Shit. Eliot needed to control himself. Sure, he tended to go for women, but he had never limited himself just to women. There were some attractive male flight attendants, too. And besides, Tony had captured his interest from that time in the bar when Jean-Paul Rainier sang so beautifully. It wasn’t Eliot’s fault.

It seemed to Eliot as if Tony’s grin widened when he saw him blush, and Eliot had to force himself to stop from hoping that maybe the grin signified something other than platonic interest. Because, Tony was a client, and Eliot had to focus to ensure that Komemiute’s best assassin didn’t get to him while he was distracted.

“Nah, he’s not freaky. He’s just OCD about our safety,” Parker contradicted Hardison.

“Shut up,” Eliot told them. “You,” he pointed to Tony, “who else is trying to kill you?”

Tony sighed. He grabbed another burner phone and his backpack and headed down the stairs, destroying the phone he had just been using and looking as if he was fully intending not to answer the question.

“Look, Tony,” Eliot tried again, following him down to the lower level. “You need to let us know who else we should be looking for. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t have all the information that I need.”

Tony flung the backpack down and leaned his back against the wall, putting his elbows on a sort of shelf that ran around the room. Hie eyes were hooded and he ran his hands through his brown hair, making it stand up. Eliot took in the sight of him, a bare bulb above their heads lighting him such that his eyes were shadowed. The olive-green t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and he sighed, lips pursed together, and he looked sad, more than anything. The old sign for currency exchange was right by his head, along with some old and worn posters that he couldn’t really make out anymore. One of them might be an image of Jesus or Mary, but Eliot couldn’t be sure.

“Tony,” Eliot lowered his voice. “We’re only trying to help you.”

Tony sighed and pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “I know,” he sighed again.

“Who else is trying to kill you?” Eliot asked again.

Tony rubbed his eyes, and Eliot could see the weariness in them, an exhaustion that went right down to his bones. He leaned back against the wall, and keeping his face averted, he spoke.

“There is a reason why I went to ground, all those years ago,” he began.

“After you graduated from Ohio State?” Eliot asked. Even though the comms were silent, he knew that his teammates were listening intently.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded.

“What happened?” Eliot prompted gently.

“Basically, my father tried to con the Don of the Macaluso family,” Tony looked like he really didn’t want to talk about this, but he was making the effort. He still kept his eyes averted, as if he were distancing himself from everything.

“Macaluso? In Philly?” Eliot asked.

“Yup,” Tony grimaced. “Sadly, I share my father’s name. The Don only knew that Tony DiNozzo screwed him over. Father decided then that I was the Tony DiNozzo in question.”

“ _What?_ ” Eliot crossed his arms. “Your father let the blame for what _he_ did fall on you?”

“Yup,” Tony nodded, lips pursed grimly. “So, they put a price on my head.”

“Shit,” Parker’s voice came over the comms.

“That about sums it up,” Tony shrugged.

“What were you doing at the time?” Sophie asked.

“I’d just received my acceptance to the police academy,” Tony snorted. “Ironic, right? I was going to go be a cop even though my father was a conman. But he went and threw me to the Macalusos. I had to get the hell out of dodge, as quickly as I could.”

“And that’s why you’ve been in hiding all this time?” Eliot asked.

“Pretty much.”

For the first time in his life, Eliot felt an overwhelming urge to hug a man and just shield him from the world. Tony had been living in Málaga in full disguise. He had never been able to live life as his own person. He had always had to hide.

“Shit,” Hardison was eloquent in his sympathy.

Eliot reached out and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, gripping him, trying to reassure him. They had speculated as to the reason why someone with Tony’s college records and the fact that he had run into a burning building to save a child, why someone like that would end up on the wrong side of the law. But they hadn’t realized that it could be something like this.

“You’re sure the price is still on your head?” Nate asked.

“Yeah. I have people keeping an eye on that for me,” Tony said shortly, although he gave Eliot a small smile, thanking him for the comfort that Eliot was extending.

“We’ll just have to fix that, too, then,” Eliot declared. “We’re not going to save you from Komemiute only to let the mob murder you.”

Tony shrugged his shoulders again.

“Eliot’s right,” Nate agreed. “Finish up there and get back here. We have a plane to catch.”

[](https://i.imgur.com/2gK6WRJ.png)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chase music that Hardison sings in this chapter refers to this scene from Leverage Season 5 Episode 3: The First Contact Job and can be heard [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ebxwkKD2IE): It's worth a listen.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

**_Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/2gK6WRJ.png)

Eliot knew that he was in that hyperaware state that he got into when he was in the middle of something dangerous. During these times, it often felt to him as if time slowed down, and he was able to see what was about to happen almost before it happened. It was this instinct that had made him not just lethal, back during those dark days when he had done things that had made him a bad man, even if he’d done it in the name of his country and for the greater good, but it also made him highly effective now, when his team, these people who had become family to him, were in danger. And now that they had taken Tony DiNozzo under their collective wing and pledged to help him and keep him safe, that meant that they, as a team, had voluntarily put themselves on Ziva David of Komemiute’s radar as well. Which meant that as a team, they were potentially in the same danger that Tony was in.

It meant that a world class assassin was on their tails, and chances were, she would not hesitate to take one of them out if it meant she could get to her target. It meant that all of them were in grave danger.

But of course, danger wasn’t new to them. They had survived other threats to their survival, other criminals who had wanted to end them. But this time, for some reason, Eliot’s instincts were going on overdrive because yes, he had his team to protect, but he was also responsible for Tony DiNozzo’s safety. And unfortunately for him, he found himself drawn to Tony. Something about a man whose father had betrayed him and sold him out to a dangerous mafia family to save his own skin, a man who had been forced to abandon his pursuit of becoming a policeman in order to run for his life because his father would rather allow the mob to kill his son if it meant he got to live, it just drew Eliot to him. And, as far as Eliot could tell, after this happened, Tony had hidden himself away, learning to become a thief instead of a cop, as had been his original intent.

But yet, even though he could have gone to the dark side with his change in career, he was apparently _still_ trying to help people. He was trying to return the stolen Iraqi antiquities instead of being the one to steal them, as Ziva David had tried to tell them he had. And despite the threat to his life, not just by the Davids, but also for the fact that there was still a bounty put on his head by a Philadelphia crime family years ago, he was still determined to barrel into danger, because he had committed to this course of action and his contacts would not accept a meet with anyone but him, in person. Whoever it was who had asked him to help with retrieving these artifacts was someone Tony didn’t want to disappoint and it made Eliot wonder who this man could be and why Tony felt compelled to go through with this. This man was not going to cut and run, even though it would probably be the safest thing for him to do. He’d been planning on going back to where a dangerous crime syndicate could take him out, to help return these artifacts back to the appropriate authorities’ custody, and from there they would be returned to Iraq. He had basically been planning to metaphorically run back into another burning building and do it alone. Hell, he had even apparently agreed to look into who was perpetrating the thefts in the first place.

But he wasn’t alone anymore. Eliot knew that he and his team would give Tony all the support he needed to get through this, and if he knew Nate – and he thought he did by now – that they would also straighten out this price on his head bullshit. Eliot couldn’t wait for Nate to sic him upon the Macaluso family. They would regret the years that Tony had had to live in hiding and in fear, Eliot vowed.

So here they were, flying into Dulles using brand new identities that Hardison had come up with for them. Eliot was sure that even if Ziva David hadn’t been able to track Tony down in Europe based on Tony’s own security measures, there was no reason why David wouldn’t be able to predict that Tony would need to return to the US. That they were trying to kill him made Eliot think that she knew that whoever Tony had contracted to intercept the shipment and bring it back would not accept anything but an in person meet. She would be certain to have her network looking for Tony and other evidence of these artifacts. Whatever it was that was in there, they knew that she really did not want it falling back into the hands of the US Federal Government, and that made Eliot also worry about what it was that the Davids or Komemiute were hiding from the US Intelligence community. In his estimation, it felt like something that would be a serious breach of National Security. Eliot might no longer be an operative of the US government, but he hadn’t in any way defected to a foreign power. Certainly, working with Nate and the team had helped him remember the idealistic young man he had been, once upon a time, who wanted more than what his little town in Oklahoma could give him. So, he wasn’t going to be able to stand idly by and watch something happen to his country. He couldn’t see Nate doing it either. But it was an added worry. A complication to what should have been a straightforward retrieval and delivery.

Whatever happened, Eliot would help Tony get the artifacts back into the right hands, and on top of that, he would probably need to make some calls regarding this possible threat to National Security. He might be out of the government, but he still knew people who would take this seriously. Right now though, Tony’s safety was paramount. Just the thought of Komemiute successfully assassinating Tony was already too much for Eliot to bear, even though in all honesty, he barely even knew the man. The song he had sung back at Los Perdidos had really touched Eliot’s soul. He’d even looked up the lyrics to the song so that he finally knew what it was Tony had sung, and his heart had ached for him. As far as Eliot could tell, Tony had been all alone ever since he’d gone on the run. He had some contacts, sure, but it didn’t seem to him as if they really knew him in person. He had a remote network of people to help him conceal himself effectively, but he truly did work alone. He’d lived alone, and not even used his own face in his everyday life. Eliot couldn’t help but think that that had to have been a terrible way to live. His heart went out to the man.

It probably didn’t help that right now, Tony was practically sprawled in his lap, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted, contorting his body over the immovable armrest that was between them. His face was smooshed into Eliot’s chest, the thick, black framed glasses that were part of his current identity skewed awkwardly on his face, and his upper body was draped over him. Eliot had one arm around him, rubbing soothing circles on the small of his back when he began stirring or frowning in his sleep. He was also glaring at Sophie who was beaming at him from her seat a few rows ahead of them in the front row of first class.

Nate had not wanted Tony to travel alone, so Hardison made him a cover where he and Eliot were a married couple. Eliot had growled under his breath a little, but really, it was just for show. It made sense that he would need to stick close to Tony and by traveling together, it would help cover Tony’s tracks better than a man traveling alone. Nate had even asked Hardison and Parker to get on a different plane, so someone looking for the five of them together wouldn’t easily spot them. Hardison and Parker were flying into Baltimore International. They would then make their way to meet up with them at Tony’s DC safe house.

DC was close enough to the Port of Baltimore that it would be a short drive for them. Eliot was sitting in his seat, going through the surveillance photos of the Port of Baltimore on a tablet, wanting to familiarize himself with it, while allowing Tony to use him as a body pillow. It had started out with Tony beginning to nod off, and since their cover was as a married couple, Eliot had put his arm around the man and guided his head onto his shoulder, with a softly murmured “Sleep. I got you.”

Both Eliot and Tony ignored the quiet squeal that came through the comms. Fucking Parker. The girl already thought of Tony as her new best friend before they had even met, and now she was even more convinced of it. Sophie giving him soft smiles didn’t help either.

Tony had fallen asleep, head on Eliot’s shoulder, but over time, the man had turned out to be a true cuddler, utilizing Eliot’s body as a pillow while he slept. Eliot had wanted to take the glasses off his face, but Nate had quietly warned him to leave them on since they were supposed to be in disguise and the glasses were part of his disguise.

They were well over halfway into their flight and Eliot was comfortably settled in his seat, his fake husband sleeping in his arms, going through the photos of the Port of Baltimore, and everything that they knew about the case so far, nursing a glass of champagne. A flight attendant had brought them a 

blanket, and Eliot had covered his sleeping husband with it early on. Being in first class was always nice, because the flight attendants were very attentive. Two good-looking men traveling together, wedding rings on their fingers, wearing expensive designer clothes – ‘couture’, Tony had called it – and the flight attendants were falling all over themselves to give them the first-class treatment. Eliot could hardly blame them though. Tony looked amazing in the white turtleneck he had on, the glasses and the turtleneck combination making him look like an academic of some sort. Eliot was down to his shirtsleeves, no tie, and the vest of his three-piece suit, but he felt that the best part of his own outfit was the Tony DiNozzo sacked out on his chest.

Without warning, Tony jerked awake, almost head-butting Eliot’s chin.

“Shh,” Eliot hushed him, rubbing his back.

Tony gave him a confused look for a minute, before he remembered what was going on and who Eliot was. He yawned and wiped his mouth. Yeah. Tony was a drooler. But Eliot didn’t care about the wet spot on his shirt.

“Sorry about that,” Tony apologized.

“Hey, it sold our cover,” Eliot smiled at him. His heart skipped again when Tony rubbed his eyes under the glasses that he wore and yawned, slowly stretching his muscles. He looked so adorably disgruntled and mussed with sleep.

“How much longer?” Tony asked through another yawn.

“Another hour and a half or so before we get there,” Eliot told him.

Tony sat up, but put his hand on the armrest between them, palm up, and Eliot immediately took his hand, linking their fingers together.

“Feeling a little more rested?” Eliot asked.

Tony nodded. Not a moment later, a flight attendant brought a bottle of water over to them and asked if Tony wanted something to eat or a snack. Tony gave the woman a charming smile and ended up with a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and crackers. Even though Tony was awake and had snacks, he and Eliot continued to hold hands. Eliot didn’t know how much of this was just part of their cover, but Tony’s smiles were sweet and flirty, and just right for someone who was supposed to happily be in a long-term relationship.

“Anything new?” Tony asked, once he was done with his refreshments.

Eliot shook his head. “No, but I wish we knew more.”

“You’re worried about why they’re doing this,” Tony gave him a serious look.

Eliot nodded.

“And not just because this is something illegal.” It was a statement and not a question, the way Tony said it, but Eliot nodded again. “What do you think it could be?”

Eliot took a moment to think through his response. He didn’t want to scare Tony, but he didn’t want to downplay it either. “Think National Security,” he murmured.

“What, like some kind of terrorist attack?” Tony whispered, concerned.

“It’s one possibility,” Eliot agreed.

“Shit,” Tony sighed. “What the hell does that have to do with stolen Iraqi antiquities?”

“I don’t know yet,” Eliot mused. “But it’s not good.”

“Definitely hinky,” Tony nodded. “I’ll check in with my contacts and make sure they know your thoughts. They might be able to help get more information for us.”

Eliot grunted.

Tony sighed and settled back into Eliot’s shoulder, and in a move that felt so natural, Eliot slid his arm around Tony’s back again. Together, they looked through the information on the tablet, Tony frowning thoughtfully and asking insightful questions as they looked at all the data.

“My retriever confirmed that they obtained eighty-seven items,” Tony mused. “They haven’t added an item to the shipment, at least.”

“OK.”

“Given that we’re talking about Mossad or Komemiute or factions within this type of organization, I’m guessing they don’t actually care about these artifacts,” Tony swiped through the pictures of some of the artifacts. “Never mind that they’re five-thousand-year old Sumerian artifacts, with historical significance which no dollar amount would be enough to convey.”

“They’re priceless,” Eliot agreed.

“So why the hell are they so gung-ho on stopping them from going back into NCIS custody?”

“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,” Eliot sighed.

“They had to have put something in one of these artifacts,” Tony frowned. “Someone could slip a USB flash drive or something like that into one of these, right?”

“That’s a real possibility,” Hardison’s voice through the comms made Tony jump before he rolled his eyes.

“But how would it get into an artifact in the first place?” Sophie asked. “And who would put it there?”

“Why would the Israelis want to kill Tony to stop it from being found?” Parker sounded affronted by it.

“You’re going to have to tell her how you did the Mona Lisa job when this is all said and done,” Eliot whispered to Tony, making him snort with laughter. “I swear, Parker fell in love with you because of that.”

“She’s going to have to fight my husband off to get to me though, isn’t she?” Tony winked at him.

Eliot grinned, pleased at the fact that Tony was flirting with him, before he turned his mind back to the serious thing they were discussing. “It makes it more likely that this isn’t a sanctioned op,” he half growled the end of the sentence. “Which opens it up to way more disturbing options than even a sanctioned op can have.”

“Hardison, go on and scan for any kind of terror-related chatter, if you can,” Nate jumped in.

“On it,” Hardison responded.

“Eliot, any thoughts on what we can do to make Tony safe for the Port of Baltimore meet?” Nate asked.

“Yeah, I got some ideas,” Eliot gave Tony a sidelong glance, and gave him a smile when he noticed that Tony was also stealing a look at him at the same time.

Tony blushed, which made Eliot’s smile widen, and he pulled Tony closer and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. What? Married couples were affectionate. Eliot was only being Tony’s fake husband. Right? It had nothing to do with the fact that Tony’s blush heightened when he did that, or the shy smile that Tony flashed at him.

After a few more minutes of hashing out what they thought they knew and throwing out ideas as to what it was Ziva David was after, they all relaxed and leaned back. Hardison and Parker were going to arrive a couple hours after them, so they still had more of their journey to go than did Tony, Eliot, Nate and Sophie.

They all relaxed into their seats. Tony was still snuggled into Eliot’s chest, and Eliot had his arm securely around the man, his protective stance unmistakable.

“Looking at this dynamic, I suppose we know who would top who in the relationship, huh?” Sophie murmured, giving Eliot a sly smile from where she was sitting.

Both Tony and Eliot flipped her the bird at the same time, which made Tony chuckle softly and Eliot shot him a fond look.

“I’ll have you know that I’m _very_ flexible,” Tony leered suggestively at Eliot. “In _every_ sense of the word.” Fuck if that didn’t make Eliot’s dick chub up. He tried not to imagine what Tony would look like naked, bent in half, and writhing under him. With no luck, obviously. Because all he could think about now was that delectable image.

“Stop feeding the wildlife, Soph,” Nate pulled at Sophie until she turned towards him. “I don’t want to know what they get up to in the bedroom.”

“Or airplane bathrooms?” Tony suggested.

“They _are_ supposed to be married, after all,” Hardison added. “They’re supposed to be having sex. Babe, you want to get in on some of that airplane bathroom action? Be part of the mile high club?”

“One time, I base jumped off of the Burj Khalifa,” Eliot could tell that Parker was smiling happily as she sighed at that memory and he ignored Tony’s look of admiration and horror, presumably at the thought of base jumping off the Burj Khalifa.

“Baby, that’s not what the mile high club is about. For one thing, no one can have sex _while_ base jumping,” Hardison clucked his tongue. “For another, the Burj Khalifa isn’t a mile high. It’s like only a half a mile or so.”

Parker snorted at that. “I can’t imagine sex in those tiny little airplane bathrooms would be very comfortable.”

“It’s too bad these first class seats don’t convert into beds with privacy partitions like they do on some planes,” Tony grinned. “That’s a better way of mile high-ing it, no?”

“You sound like you might have some personal experience with that?” Eliot teased him.

“Oooh, naughty,” Sophie interjected in a soft, husky drawl.

“I _don’t_ want to know,” Nate repeated urgently.

“Man, I _knew_ we were on the boring plane,” Parker complained.

“Woman, you better not be calling me boring,” came Hardison’s reply.

Tony’s giggle made Eliot roll his eyes and wryly drop a kiss in his hair. Tony grinned at him, a wide open and uninhibited one, and Eliot had to stop himself from pressing his lips against the man’s plush ones. Tony noticed Eliot’s eyes on his mouth though, and he blushed again. Luckily, an overly helpful flight attendant came by, asking if they needed refills to their drinks, interrupting the sweet moment.

Eliot knew that it was unprofessional of him to lust after the client, but he was getting to the point where he wasn’t sure if it was just lust anymore. Tony DiNozzo fascinated him in a way that no one had in a long time. He genuinely liked the man, and he liked how Tony seemed to fit in with the rest of the team, bantering along with them as if he’d been part of the team for a lot longer than half a day. And hadn’t only joined them after Hardison kidnapped him off the streets of Amsterdam.

Eliot went back to the tablet, Tony’s sharp eyes focusing on the data as well, as they continued to cuddle. There was no other word for what they were doing, Eliot realized after a moment. They were cuddling in public, something much more intimate than anything Eliot had done with any of his sexual partners of the last decade. And yet, Eliot didn’t feel trapped or uncomfortable in any way. Hell, he was pretty on board with cuddling with Tony, and he didn’t give a shit who was looking at them. Cover story or no cover story, he was cuddling the shit out of Tony and he was more than all right with it.

They had been cuddling and going through the tablet, speaking quietly together, when Eliot realized that Tony had brought a small object out of his pocket and was absently fingering it with his free hand. He jutted his chin at it.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Tony looked almost surprised to see the object in his hand, and he sat up, looking sheepish, his face flushing. “It’s just this old thing my mom gave to me when I was a kid,” he muttered.

“Can I take a look at it?” Eliot saw the hesitation in Tony’s face. “You don’t have to,” he quickly reassured the man. “It’s none of my business, and you can feel free to tell me that.”

Tony gave him a long look before he carefully handed it to Eliot. It was surprisingly heavy in Eliot’s hand and he examined it, ensuring that he exercised caution with it. It was obviously important to Tony, and Eliot didn’t want to do anything to possibly harm the object. It was an antique compass, made of brass. Pretty old. Late seventeenth century or early eighteenth century, if Eliot had to guess. He wasn’t an expert on old compasses, but he knew an authentic antique when he saw it. There were initials inscribed on the back.

“ACW,” he read out loud.

Tony nodded.

“Your mom’s?” Eliot held his hand out to give it back.

“She gave it to me when I was a kid. Not long before she died, really,” Tony shrugged, taking the offered compass and fingering it with care.

“A family heirloom?” Eliot asked. “Looks pretty old.”

“Yeah,” Tony gave him a small, sad smile. “An heirloom from her side of the family.”

“Was ACW one of your ancestors?”

Tony chuckled softly at that. “No,” he grinned. “He was a vanquished enemy, according to my mother.”

“Spoils of war,” Eliot grinned.

“Makes it all the sweeter, I guess,” Tony shrugged. “She used to tell me bedtime stories about how our ancestor seized this compass, along with other items, from the vanquished enemy.”

“Sounds like an exciting bedtime.”

“Not too conducive to actually going to sleep, though,” Tony chuckled ruefully.

“But it’s a good memory.”

“Definitely,” Tony grinned. “I carry it around now because it was important to her.”

“It’s important to you, too.”

Tony looked at the compass, practically caressing it. “I don’t have very many things of hers left,” he said softly.

Eliot couldn’t help himself. He took Tony’s hand, the one holding the compass, in both of his and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. “Then it’s very important,” he told Tony.

The eyes behind the glasses shone extra brightly for a moment, and his smile was wobbly, but Eliot thought that Tony was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

[](https://i.imgur.com/a9RtynU.png)


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

**_Washington, DC_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/nPmE0Ap.png)

By the time Tony had deplaned and gone through customs and immigration, he was somehow so tired that he couldn’t even get too keyed up or nervous about being back on US soil. He’d avoided coming home as much as he could, and if he had to be in the country, he always made sure that he was at least a thousand miles away from Philly. But here he was, in a city that was a hop, skip and a jump away from Philly and the base of the Macaluso crime family, and his heart wasn’t even pounding in his chest.

It was weird, but Eliot’s hand, holding his securely as they went through the process of re-entering the country, it made Tony feel better. He was still feeling a weariness in him, and it wasn’t just caused by the excitement of the past few days. He was somehow feeling all the exhaustion, both physical and mental, from having lived a complete lie for so many years, and now he was allowing Eliot, Nate, Sophie, Parker and Hardison into his real life, without any disguises, showing them his true face and talking about his past honestly. Sure, Gibbs and Franks knew what he looked like since they had been the ones to save his life way back then, and McGee did have to know what he looked like in order for the program he wrote to work and mess up all facial recognition software – well, all except Hardison’s souped up one, apparently – allowing Tony to move around in relative anonymity. And if McGee knew what he looked like, chances were, so did Abby. But Tony had never really counted them as friends and had certainly never met them in person. Hell, he hadn’t even spoken to either one of them on the phone, communicating with Abby only via coded text messages and relying on her to let McGee know what was going on. Franks had been the one to connect them together, years ago.

But here Tony was, casually as all hell walking through Dulles International Airport, not even two hundred miles from Philly. The last time he’d been stateside he’d been in San Diego, all the way across the country from Philly, and even there, even in disguise, he’d freaked out more than just a little, worrying about the Macalusos somehow spotting him. This time, in such close proximity to the city of brotherly love, with basically glasses as his disguise (seriously, how could Clark Kent get away with that lame ass disguise?), he wasn’t even breaking a sweat about it. It probably helped that part of his disguise was the solid bulk of man muscle that was Eliot.

They went through the necessary evil of customs and immigration, stopped by the baggage carousel for their luggage, and walked out of the terminal to where Nate and Sophie had a car waiting for them. Eliot helped Tony into the back seat, closed the door securely, and went around the back, eyes open and scanning for any threats or tails. He got in the back on the other side and slipped in.

“Clear,” he told Nate, who was driving.

Nate nodded, and pulled away from the curb. They followed the GPS directions that Hardison had programmed, which allowed for several detours designed to allow for tails to be spotted, but everything seemed to be fine. They arrived at the building and Nate drove into the underground parking. They grabbed their bags and headed up the elevator.

When Tony unlocked and opened the door to the apartment that he had long ago set aside as his safe house in DC, he stood and gaped for a moment. It was supposed to be barely furnished – a fridge and a small stove in the kitchen, a small bed in the bedroom, a working bathroom. That was about it. But apparently Hardison was like the tech fairy godfather because the wall across from the wall of windows was now covered with screens. There were several laptops set up around the room, a small conference room table placed in there. There were small beds scattered around the living room area and more in the bedroom.

“I see Hardison has redecorated,” Tony murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Hardison’s voice came through the earbud. “Don’t touch the screens yet. I pulled some strings to get everything delivered and placed, but I like to install the tech myself. Saves trouble. I’d have to rewire and reinstall everything if someone else did it so it’s better to leave that set up for myself.”

“All yours, brother,” Eliot agreed.

“Let’s get settled, grab a bite to eat, and by then Hardison will be here and we can start going through what we need to do tomorrow,” Nate stepped in, rubbing his hands together.

Tony threw his bag on one of the beds in the living room, but Eliot picked it back up and firmly placed it on a bed in the bedroom. He jerked his head at the wall of windows.

“I’d rather you not be within easy range of a sniper,” Eliot muttered.

While Tony rolled his eyes, Eliot dropped his own bag onto a bed in the bedroom as well before he shrugged his jacket off and went back to the living room. He had the blinds lowered and shuttered, so the room wasn’t quite so exposed.

“Blackout curtains would be better,” Eliot grumbled.

“Next time I set up a safe house, I’ll be sure to have Home & Garden come and decorate it,” Tony shook his head.

Nate disappeared and came back with bags of Thai takeout and a box of Rocket-Os cereal and milk. While waiting for Hardison and Parker to arrive, Tony pulled a new burner phone from a package in the closet and sent a text to Abby to check in. He was exchanging text messages with her when Hardison and Parker arrived.

They all sat down to eat together, and Tony watched as Parker squealed happily at the sight of a bowl of Rocket-Os.

“She’s missed her favorite cereal while we were out of the country,” Sophie explained with a soft smile.

“It’s the worst part of traveling,” Parker agreed, teeth crunching on the cereal.

Tony grinned, giving Eliot a smile as he thanked him for the plate of Thai food Eliot placed on the table in front of him. Hardison took a few minutes to get his equipment set up before he sat and joined in the meal.

“We should put spring rolls on our menu, Eliot,” Hardison spoke around a big mouthful of fried spring rolls.

“Maybe,” Eliot shrugged. “Let me think about it. We can’t just throw one appetizer on there without thinking about complementary dishes, entrees, and desserts to go with it. And we’d have to figure out what beer to pair it with.”

“Do you guys own a restaurant?” Tony asked.

“A microbrewery,” Hardison grinned. “Our baby.”

“Eliot is the head chef,” Sophie added.

“I’m in charge of the beer,” Hardison smiled.

“No, he’s not,” Eliot shook his head. “No. Hardison. No.”

“With Eliot’s input, of course,” Hardison amended hastily.

Tony had to grin at that.

“I really liked that gazpacho andaluz you served at Los Perdidos, though,” Eliot’s intense gaze was a little disconcerting.

“Yeah?” Tony grinned. “A staple of Andalusian tapas.”

“I’d like to add that to our menu. It would go well with maybe our lager.”

“I know the recipe well,” Tony offered.

“Perfect,” Eliot smiled at him. “I really liked how you served it in the wine glass like that.”

“For the tapa, sure,” Tony shrugged. “If they ordered it as a starter, then we wouldn’t serve it in a wine glass. It would be in a proper bowl, and we’d top it with things like chopped tomatoes, cucumber and avocadoes. Maybe a boiled egg. Some jamon iberico to fancy it up. We love our jamon in Andalucia.” Tony thought of the leg of jamon he had in the Los Perdidos kitchen. Cured ham, one of the most popular and expensive delicacies produced in the region.

“Huh,” Eliot nodded thoughtfully. “I can work with that.”

“Best gazpacho in the world, if anybody asked me,” Tony remarked. “And it’s all raw. All fresh. You’d need to get some Spanish olive oil. We make the best olive oil in Andalucia.”

Eliot nodded again, looking like he was taking notes.

Once they were mostly done eating, bantering the entire time, Nate leaned back. “Hardison, what have you learned?”

Hardison wiped his hands and mouth before he grabbed the keyboard, typing away until the screens lit up. “Nothing too different on the Intel chatter that I could find.”

“My contact said that one ICE agent was killed recently while pursuing a terrorist cell out west,” Tony volunteered, checking Abby’s text.

“How is that related?” Nate asked

“Probably not related,” Tony shrugged. “But that’s pretty much all my contact can dig up right now on the legal channels.”

“Here’s what we can probably assume,” Eliot sat forward, elbows on the table, hands on the table, clasped together with fingers interlaced. There was that crease in his brow again. “We can probably assume that whatever it is they want to hide from NCIS, it’s something that will get Mossad in trouble with the US federal government. Which points to illegal ops on US soil that did not get the OK from anyone in our government. That could damage international relations between our countries. There’s supposed to be cooperation between the intel community of our country and Israel.”

“That makes sense,” Nate nodded.

“Another assumption would be that this illegal operation might also not be sanctioned by Mossad or the Israeli government,” Eliot continued.

“Why do you say that?” Tony asked.

“Hardison said that he monitored Mossad’s chatter and found nothing at all regarding something that Ziva David was involved in,” Eliot turned to Hardison.

“That’s right,” Hardison agreed.

“So, they’re smuggling information about that out in the Iraqi antiquities?” Parker frowned. “But why?”

“I would assume that they did not want or expect this to happen. My guess is that they were betrayed somehow. This information was probably not supposed to exist, and for whatever reason, whoever got the information had to hide it somewhere and somehow, the Iraqi antiquities were the logical option,” Eliot clucked his tongue. “Probably their _only_ option.”

“So the fact that Ziva David is now after the Iraqi shipment probably means that…” Sophie sighed.

“Whoever hid the intel was caught by her,” Nate pursed his lips.

“And given Komemiute’s MO, I’m going to guess that that person is probably deceased,” Eliot added.

There was a long silence as they all looked at each other.

“Why do I feel like Mon Mothma just stood up and told us that many Bothan spies died to bring us this information?” Tony knew it wasn’t the right time for a joke, but the thought occurred to him.

Hardison’s eyes brightened. “My man!” he held his fist out, waiting patiently until Tony bumped his fist with his own. “You didn’t just throw out some typical Star Wars reference, you went with Mon Mothma and the Bothan spies? You a die-hard fan?”

“Just a die-hard fan of movies,” Tony shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Not much else to do when you’re literally too scared to show your face anywhere and be social with anyone but watch movies alone.”

“You can watch movies with us from now on,” Parker declared staunchly.

Tony’s heart lightened a little at that and he gave her a grateful smile.

“Ziva David went dark for some time, but then she came back?” Nate hummed thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Hardison turned to Nate.

“No further information on that time period?”

“Unh-unh.”

“I’ll see if my contact can dig a little deeper into that,” Tony picked up his phone and began composing a text to Abby.

“We should probably look for someone who had access to the artifacts before they were stolen from the warehouse, who has gone missing or died unexpectedly,” Nate added.

“Hey, Hardison, if you were able to track me down once you knew what I looked like, couldn’t you see if you can do the same thing to find this Ziva David?” Tony asked the tech genius. “My contact has been looking for her, too, but they haven’t been able to find her. Not through any of the legal ports of entry, at least.”

“I’ve been trying to find her, believe me,” Hardison pouted. “But she’s slippery.”

“She’s probably not entering via a legal port of entry,” Eliot frowned. “Which means you shouldn’t check footage from airports and whatnot. Instead, sweep for security footage from everyday places – traffic cams, CCTV footage, that sort of thing.”

“Not all of that stuff is networked, you know,” Hardison grumbled. “Plus, there are a lot of cameras in this country. A lot of footage for my program to go through. Which might take more time than we like.”

“Narrow it down to footage within two hundred miles of Baltimore,” Tony suggested.

“She’s going to want to be here in person if this is some unsanctioned op that not even Mossad knows about,” Eliot nodded his agreement.

They talked through other possibilities, and Tony added whatever new thoughts Abby sent his way to the discussion. It was strange to Tony that he was having an open discussion about this with people he’d just met. It had taken him forever to warm up to Abby and he still wasn’t quite sure he had warmed up to McGee. But it didn’t feel wrong to just somehow turn over his issues to this group and let them help him shoulder the burden. Abby had also sent him dossiers on each member of the Leverage team. As individuals, they were impressive. As a collective, the team was beyond description.

Abby had been incredibly excited that Tony had hooked up with them. She apparently had a geek crush on Hardison. But overall, she’d raved about them. Modern day Robin Hoods, she’d called them. Helping those who had nowhere else to turn. The proverbial David against the Goliaths of the world. Lots of babbling like that that Tony had to grin at.

It was also mind blowing that they were all now so close to each other that if Tony had sent Abby the coordinates to his safe house, she could probably have driven over in a half hour or so. But Tony was still Tony and as much as it would have been fun to watch Abby interact with the team, he still needed to make sure that she was insulated from him as much as possible. He not only had the Macalusos after him, but now this Ziva David assassin ninja chick, too. It was too dangerous for Abby to be in physical proximity with him. It was one thing for Franks or even Gibbs, they could take care of themselves. But Abby was not trained to defend herself. Tony couldn’t jeopardize her safety like that.

Finally, they decided to call it a night. Parker and Hardison claimed one of the beds in the living room in full view of the bank of screens. Sophie and Nate had chosen to push two beds together in another corner of the living room, and from somewhere, Hardison produced a screen to give them privacy. Tony slowly came to the realization that they were giving him the bedroom – he was the target after all, Parker told him, in a matter of fact and cheerful way that shouldn’t have been reassuring but somehow was all the same. But not only was he going to sleep in the bedroom, Eliot was planning to keep watch. Hardison was keeping an eye on the monitors – he’d tapped into the security cameras and CCTVs that were available around the area, and he’d also had his tech fairies put up some cameras in areas where he felt needed further monitoring. So Eliot wouldn’t have to patrol the building overnight. But he would be helping Hardison keep an eye out on the security footage.

His bag was on a bed in the bedroom, and Tony also realized that Eliot was planning on napping here and there, in the same room that Tony was supposed to be sleeping in, just the two of them, while the rest of Eliot’s team was sacked out in the living room. It was enough to keep Tony awake, even though he was exhausted and lying down in a clean bed, surrounded by people who were committed to keeping him alive. Even using his usual methods of getting to sleep – going over past successful jobs in his head – wasn’t cutting it. He was still wide awake a couple of hours later, when Eliot padded in, his feet making no noise. Tony tried to keep his breathing even, but Eliot came over to the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” he husked, his growl even sexier when he was keeping his voice down.

“It’s weird having people around,” Tony gave up pretending to be asleep.

“We’ve all got your back,” Eliot assured him.

“I know,” Tony smiled. Because he did somehow know that. It was just weird for him to have people breathing the same air as he was, in the same room, in the same apartment. He had lived alone for years.

“Hardison’s rigged up an alert so we’ll know if anyone suspicious comes within a hundred yards of us in any direction.”

“I know.”

“Try to get some sleep,” Eliot sighed. “You were tired on the plane.”

“Yeah I still am,” Tony couldn’t help it, but his face heated up at the thought that he’d spent a lot of the plane ride sleeping on Eliot. Nervously, he brought the compass out of his pocket and began fingering it again.

“You want to tell me the story about the enemy your ancestor vanquished?” Eliot nodded to the object in his hand.

Tony grinned, flipping the compass over and fingering the initials inscribed on the back. He scooched over, making room for Eliot to sit on the bed, and patted the mattress. The other man gingerly settled his weight on the bed, leaning against the headboard and stretching his legs out on the bed with a satisfied grunt.

“Hardison told us you were part of the British nobility on your mother’s side,” Eliot’s tone was careful, and Tony appreciated that Eliot didn’t want Tony to think that he was hiding something. They would have obviously researched him to figure out why he had supposedly stolen the Iraqi antiquities, as the fake Nabila Mahfouz claimed he had. They would have researched him, the way they had done their homework on Ziva David and had even unearthed his unlikely connection to Abby and McGee, even though he hadn’t confirmed his connection to them.

“The Paddingtons,” Tony nodded. “But this goes back a little further. The ancestor wasn’t English at the time. The vanquished enemy, however, was. He was the captain of the _Saint Joseph_ , and he was called Alexander C Westher.”

“Cool.”

“My mother told me bedtime stories of this ancestor of mine, who was a privateer,” Tony couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the memories. “He captured and boarded the _Saint Joseph_ , among a bunch of other ships. My mother, she was obsessed with him. And she always wanted to find his lost treasure.”

“ _Lost treasure_ ,” Eliot’s eyebrows went up.

“I know, right? Best bedtime stories ever,” Tony shook his head and held out the compass to Eliot. “She was convinced that the key to the treasure was hidden in this compass.”

“Interesting,” Eliot took the bronze object and turned it over in his hand. “Did you ever figure it out?”

“I have theories,” Tony shrugged. “But not a lot of breathing room to go look for it. I mean, I’ve had some treasure hunting excursions. It’s the thing I like to do, but it’s always done so secretively that I’m sure I’ve missed stuff.”

“I guess you believe in the treasure, then?”

“It’s a bona fide, documented lost treasure. I’m not the only one hunting it.”

“Nice,” Eliot nodded, handing the compass back. “Maybe when we finish this Iraqi antiquities job and we fix this thing with the Macaluso family, you’ll be able to go on a real expedition.”

Tony chuckled at that. “Yeah, that’ll be the day,” he sighed.

“Don’t lose faith, Tony,” Eliot’s fingers were in Tony’s hair now, fingernails scraping gently down his scalp in soothing waves. 

“I don’t know that I ever had that,” Tony confessed, shrugging his shoulders. “Not since my mother died.”

“You’ve been dealt some shit cards,” Eliot agreed. “But you haven’t let it rule you. You haven’t let it get you down. You are still a good man, despite everything that’s happened to you.”

“Am I?” Tony made a face. “I’m a conman. In the end, I turned out just like my father.”

“That’s not true,” Eliot’s blue eyes were intense, shining brightly even in the dark. “You’re helping return these stolen Iraqi antiquities. You’re looking into how they got stolen in the first place. Do you think your father would do that?”

“Doesn’t make me a good guy,” Tony objected. “I stole things. I live off of illegally gotten gains. My entire life is a lie. How am I not my father?”

“You haven’t intentionally hurt anyone,” Eliot’s conviction was so tangible, Tony wanted to believe him. He’d tried not to hurt anyone. He’d only stolen from the rich. Only from those who had far too much excess, and who, frankly, could have done with a lesson in humility. And if he had stolen from someone needy, back when he had been young and desperate, he’d gone back and anonymously made reparations to them for what he had taken without their permission. He’d tried to make it right with them. “Hell, you even gave back the Mona Lisa.”

“It’s a treasure that shouldn’t be hidden from the public eye,” Tony objected.

“See? You’re a good person, Tony,” Eliot’s voice was soft, but Tony was compelled to believe him. “You’re still a good man. I know how hard it is to keep being one. I lost myself for a while, and this team has allowed me to feel like a good man again.”

Tony squeezed Eliot’s hand, trying to give him some comfort. The man smiled sadly at him.

“You didn’t deserve all the shit you’ve had to go through,” Eliot continued. “But you haven’t let it all change you. You haven’t become a hard and unforgiving man. You haven’t embraced the dark side. You faced your Darth Vader and like Luke, you turned away from the dark side. And seriously, if you ever tell Hardison I said this, I _will_ kick your ass.”

Tony broke into giggles at that final sentence.

“You’re still that kid who ran into a burning building and saved a child,” Eliot kept going. “You’re still trying to help people.”

“I couldn’t save his sister,” Tony whispered. “I tried to find her, but I couldn’t. The fire was too strong. I had to take the one kid I had in my arms out before the fire took us all. But his sister died. And I _let_ that happen. I made the choice to leave her. I made the choice to walk out of that building. Even though I meant to go back in, by the time we got out, it just wasn’t possible. The fire was too much…”

“You didn’t _let_ it happen,” Eliot growled. “You tried to save her, but it was too late. Firefighters with protective equipment might have been able to save her, but even they can’t save everyone. You did your best. Sometimes you have to make that choice, and only save the people that you can, even though you can’t save everyone. Hell, you didn’t even have to run into the building in the first place. One person is alive because you did that.”

Tony bit his lips.

“You can’t save everyone, Tony,” Eliot sounded sad. “That’s just the truth of it. There’s no blame to be assigned. Sometimes you lose someone, even though you did everything you could to save them. You have to learn to live with that. And remember that you can’t save everyone.”

“How can you be so sure that you can save me, then?” Tony couldn’t help but ask.

Eliot’s calloused hand was on his face now. “Because I promise you, I will not let you die,” he vowed. “To my last breath.”

Tony felt his eyes burn with unshed tears. When he blinked, they ran down his face, and Eliot gently brushed them away.

“I promise you,” Eliot said again. “I will not let you die. I’ll protect you or die trying.”

Tony gave him a small smile. “I don’t want you to do that. I’m not worth it,” he murmured.

“Yes, you are,” Eliot’s eyes were solemn. “I already knew you were special when I heard you sing at Los Perdidos. I knew you were going to be important to me, even back then. And I didn’t even know that it was you at the time. Now that I know who you are, you’ve already become very important to me.”

Tony stared at him in shock. “I guess you really liked my singing, huh?”

“You communicated who you were when you sang,” Eliot smiled. “I could feel your sadness, and I don’t even speak French. It was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Tony felt embarrassed all of a sudden.

“Maybe you’ll sing for me again, sometime?” Eliot asked tentatively.

“I’d like that.”

“Come on, you should get some sleep,” Eliot relaxed against the headboard, gently pulling Tony closer and Tony found himself snuggling into Eliot’s strong thigh, Eliot still sitting up against the headboard, while the man’s fingers continued to run through his hair, scratching his scalp. And even though Tony didn’t think he would be able to fall asleep, as unused as he was to having many people around him, his eyelids grew heavier, and Eliot was humming something, soft and slow, his voice husky and surprisingly melodic in its own right, and Tony fell asleep almost against his will.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

**_Port of Baltimore, Baltimore, MD_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/a9RtynU.png)

Eliot and Tony handed their IDs to the guards at the security checkpoint at one of the entrances to the Port of Baltimore. Hardison had made more new identities for them. They were currently posing as owners of an import/export company, and they were here to inspect cargo in a recently delivered container. Eliot was driving, both of them dressed in business casual wear with earbuds in their ears. Tony had sunglasses on, but he had again forgone a proper disguise. Apparently, the contact was someone else that knew Tony by sight and would not be appeased by anything but a personal rendezvous.

The guards crosschecked their IDs against a clipboard, made them both sign in, before waving them through.

“Thanks,” Eliot flashed them a friendly smile. “You have a great day now.” He handed their IDs to Tony before he put the car in gear and moved forward once the barrier was raised.

Tony smiled and waved to the guards. He looked relaxed and well rested. Eliot’s smile widened and he gave Tony a flirtatious wink. Tony rolled his eyes, but his face flushed, and he looked pleased. Eliot was happy to see how relaxed Tony looked. And he couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself for being the one to help Tony get to sleep the previous night. He’d sat on the bed, letting Tony snuggle into his legs, and he’d gotten to caress the man’s soft hair until he fell asleep. It had been nice.

Sure, Eliot had had to get up and check the monitors every so often, and there were even times when he went out to get eyes on something that he’d seen on the security footage, but whenever he came back, he would sit back down on the bed next to Tony and allow the other man to curl up into him again. When Nate awoke, before the sunrise, Nate had relieved him of the watch and Eliot had gone back to his spot, sitting up next to Tony and allowing himself to get some shuteye with the attractive man curled up around him.

When he woke up a few hours later, Tony had an arm thrown over his legs and he was using his thigh as a pillow. Eliot wasn’t usually someone who enjoyed sleeping with somebody else in his bed. Oh sure, he loved sex. But he never spent the night if he could help it. He craved the physical relief and, especially during his dark years, he wasn’t looking to inflict his brand of crazy on any kind of relationship. He didn’t do relationships, or intimacy, and he didn’t even like cuddling. It made him hot and sweaty. But waking up with Tony sprawled over his legs was a pleasant surprise. He didn’t immediately feel like he had to leave or get away. He enjoyed having Tony use him as a body pillow. If anything, he wished that he’d actually laid himself down and allowed Tony to plaster his entire body on him. But it was nice to look down on this view, of Tony sleeping so peacefully and a little proprietarily all over him. Eliot’s fingers were still buried in Tony’s short brown hair and he caressed it, smiling gently.

The sound of a camera shutter snapping made him look up. Parker was grinning happily at him, phone aimed at him and taking more pictures.

“Don’t make me get up and come after you,” Eliot snarled at her.

Parker smiled sweetly, snapping more pictures before she disappeared with a soft chuckle.

Eliot rolled his eyes.

“What was Parker doing?” Tony’s sleepy voice surprised him.

“She was just taking pictures,” Eliot sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again.

Tony made a sound of derision in the back of his throat, as he resettled himself more comfortably on Eliot, scooching even closer, if that was possible. His face was getting very close to Eliot’s crotch, and his dick was more than aware that it was morning, and that Tony’s mouth was at a disturbing and exciting proximity to it.

“Next time you should just get in the bed properly,” Tony seemed not to care that Parker had incriminating photos of them together.

“Yeah, OK,” Eliot hummed, fingers brushing through Tony’s hair.

It had been a very pleasant way to wake up and Eliot found himself hoping that it wouldn’t be the only time that happened. But at that moment, he needed to focus on what was about to happen. He drove through the twists and turns of the Port of Baltimore’s shipping container storage area until he got to where he was supposed to go.

“How’s it looking?” Eliot spoke into the earbud.

“All clear,” Nate responded.

“Clear here,” Parker reported in.

“Nothing here,” Sophie’s voice came in.

“Satellite looks all clear, too,” Hardison added.

Eliot sighed and gave Tony a long look. “You ready for this?” he asked.

“I was born ready,” Tony smirked at him.

“Be careful out there, and if I tell you to do something, you do it,” Eliot told him, all business now.

“Got it,” Tony agreed.

“Remember what I told you last night,” Eliot gave him a serious look. Remember that Eliot would protect him, to his last breath.

“I remember,” Tony murmured softly.

“Good,” Eliot scanned the area quickly.

“Incoming,” Hardison’s voice interrupted them.

“A vehicle is approaching from the north east,” Parker reported. She rattled off the make and model of the car with the ease of a former car thief.

“Probably my contact,” Tony pursed his lips.

“Stay in the car until we have visual confirmation,” Eliot told him.

Tony nodded, sitting still and squinting at the approaching car. When it stopped, about twenty yards from their car, a man stepped out of the car, leaving the engine idle. Eliot frowned at him.

“It’s him,” Tony confirmed. “It’s who I was expecting.”

Eliot sighed. This was going to be interesting. “Let’s go, then.”

They both opened their car doors and exited, also leaving their engine running. Tony strode forward to meet the figure.

Eliot glared at the bald man with the slight build.

“Ugh. What is _this_ meathead doing with you?” the man asked Tony. He spoke with a British accent.

“He’s a friend,” Tony shrugged.

The man frowned at Eliot. “You need some better friends.”

“You don’t need to care who I associate with,” Tony said firmly. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

“Spencer, rumor had it that you’d gone straight,” the man gave Eliot a baleful look.

“Kort,” Eliot almost spat out. “What’s CIA’s interest in this?”

“None whatsoever,” Kort shrugged. “My interest is purely personal.”

“Huh. So, you’re turning a profit while you’re supposed to be serving Uncle Sam?” Eliot’s lip curled up in a snarl.

“Hey, it worked for you. Why not me?”

“I only made a profit once I left the service.”

“Whatever,” Kort sighed. “Tony, seriously, you need some better friends.”

“Do you have what I asked you for?” Tony refused to engage.

The man pulled an envelope out of his pocket. He held on to it tightly when Tony tried to take it from him. “Reassure me that we’re even,” Kort demanded.

“We’re even,” Tony rolled his eyes. “But you still owe Franks.”

“The next time Franks needs a favor, you tell him to come talk to me himself,” Kort said curtly.

“You think I can tell him to do anything?” Tony rolled his eyes.

“ _We’re_ square though?” Kort asked again.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony growled in exasperation. “If it’s all there, then we’re done. I hope to god I never have to see you again.”

“I echo that sentiment,” Eliot muttered.

“Ha bloody ha,” Kort sneered, but he released the envelope and Tony took it, making it disappear into a pocket quickly.

“Goodbye,” Tony told the man. But as Tony turned to go back to their car, Eliot spotted the red dot appearing on his chest.

“Down!” he yelled, pouncing on Tony, even as a gunshot echoed. A Tac-Ops Tango-51 again if Eliot wasn’t mistaken. Which he rarely was.

Kort drew a weapon and raised it, spinning around, trying to decide what to do.

“Sniper!” Eliot yelled, scrambling up and trying to shield Tony’s body with his own. Tony was staring up at him, and a splash of red began blooming under his shirt. “Tony’s been hit. Kort, help me,” he ordered, and together they started dragging Tony to the closest shipping container box, wanting to use it as cover.

Eliot’s heart was pounding. He didn’t know how they were going to make it, given that Tony was a dead weight between them. He didn’t know if another shot was coming, or if he would be able to truly shield Tony from further damage. He didn’t think they were going to make it to cover before the sniper took another shot. Shit. Shit. Shit. He should’ve trained Parker or Sophie with a long-range weapon to back them up. They should have a sniper on their team, someone other than him.

But luckily, Tony was still alive. His eyes were open, his face in a grimace of pain, and he was emitting small whimpers as they moved. That was something. Tony was still alive, and Eliot was going to do everything in his power to ensure that he continued to live. They were still dragging Tony when there was the deafening sound of another gunshot and Eliot’s eyes strayed down to Tony, even as he catalogued what he’d heard. That shot came from a different gun, not the Tango-51. Probably an M40-A1. Both of them sniper rifles. But one person wouldn’t need two rifles and the sound of the second shot came from a completely different place.

“Did you get hit again?” he demanded of Tony.

“No, did you?” Tony panted out.

“I’m fine.”

“Me too,” Kort snarked. “Not that anybody’s asking.”

Eliot didn’t waste another breath until they were all hidden behind the container.

“What’s happening?” Tony asked, breaths coming in short pants. They settled him, sitting up, back to the shipping container. Eliot took his jacket off and was pressing it against the wound. It looked like the bullet had gone through his abdomen and not his chest, thank god.

“I’m not sure,” Eliot answered. “Nate! What the hell is going on?”

There was silence on the comms.

“Nate!” Eliot shouted. “Sophie? Parker? Hardison?”

“Hang tight. We’re coming in,” Nate finally responded. “I think it’s all clear. Ziva David is down.”

“ _All clear?_ You _think_ it’s all clear? What the fucking fuck is going on?” Eliot growled in frustration.

A couple minutes later, the team converged on the container, and Eliot saw that with them was a silver haired man with military bearing, an M40-A1 sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.

Tony’s eyes widened. “Gibbs?” he looked shocked.

“Hey, Skippy,” the man, Gibbs, grinned at him, ignoring the fact that Tony was bleeding from a gunshot wound. “I thought I told you to be safe.”

“I thought you were in Rota.”

“You didn’t shoot this man, did you?” Kort asked the silver haired man – Gibbs.

The man rolled his blue eyes. “Shut up, Kort,” he snarled, earning some of Eliot’s respect. Anyone who hated Kort couldn’t be all that bad, in his book. “You should probably clear out of here before the rest of my people roll in. Unless you want to explain to NCIS why the CIA is horning in on our op, and you want to explain to the CIA why the hell you’re delivering stolen goods to a known criminal without their knowledge.”

Kort gave Tony a questioning look.

“We’re fucking square,” Tony gritted out.

Kort nodded, and ran to his car, backing away from them, tires squealing.

“Such a fucking drama queen,” Tony grumbled. “ _I’m_ the one who got shot.”

Eliot could hear sirens coming closer. “Who are you?” he frowned at Gibbs.

“Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS,” Gibbs nodded to everyone. “I understand we have you to thank for keeping Tony safe.”

“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Tony asked.

“Ziva David shot you,” Gibbs said grimly. “She tried to kill you in Málaga, and she tried again here.”

“She almost succeeded,” Sophie was kneeling next to Tony, helping Eliot put pressure on his wound.

“I take it you know this Ziva David woman?” Nate asked him.

“Yup. She conspired to have one of my team members killed,” Gibbs’ lips were pressed together in a straight line. “Her half-brother, that time. I killed him. But she cast enough doubt on her own involvement in that debacle that my director let it slide.”

Eliot couldn’t stop the growl of anger that came out of him. “I assume you just took care of her?”

“Yup. Half her brains are decorating the container behind her,” Gibbs nodded, giving Eliot a feral grin. “EMTs and the rest of my team will be here soon. Any of you who doesn’t want to give a formal statement had better get out of here,” he looked at them. “You,” he jerked his head at Eliot. “You should stay here with Tony. You two are the contacts I was meeting with to recover the stolen antiquities when this clusterfuck happened.”

“Here,” Tony pulled the bloodied envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Kort brought this.”

Gibbs took it, nodding his thanks.

“Go,” Eliot told his team. “I’ll take care of Tony.”

Nate looked everyone in the eye before they trooped away.

“What ID do you have on you?” Gibbs asked Tony, his tone serious.

“Import/export guys,” Tony was deathly pale now.

“Great. That will work perfectly.”

“How soon will the ambulance get here?” Eliot asked, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Gibbs knelt down. “Thanks, kiddo,” Eliot heard him whisper to Tony. “You did good. I’ll take care of what comes next.”

“Just follow your lead?” Tony asked him.

“Always, kid.”

“Look where that got me the last time,” Tony grinned at him. Eliot couldn’t help the stab of jealousy that went through him. Tony’s grin had been easy and filled with fondness. Tony trusted this man.

“Wish we coulda done more.”

“You did enough,” Tony frowned. “Fuck, this hurts.”

“I know,” Gibbs told him. He turned his gaze to Eliot, eyes narrowing. “You’re Eliot Spencer.”

Eliot nodded.

“One of Colonel Vance’s boys?”

“Used to be,” Eliot gave Gibbs a searching look. “I’m part of a different crew now.”

“I heard,” Gibbs nodded.

“Anyone want to share with the class?” Tony panted out.

Then the EMTs arrived, and Tony was being treated and put on a gurney.

“Sir, we need to take a look at your shoulder,” one of the EMTs said to Eliot, interrupting him as he was trying to climb into the ambulance with Tony.

“What?” Eliot frowned at her.

“Your shoulder,” she pointed to his left shoulder.

Eliot looked down and realized that he was bleeding too. He hadn’t even paid any attention to it. The EMT helped him take his jacket off.

“Bullet went through you to get to him,” Gibbs helped him into the ambulance. “Let the medic do her job and you get to go with Tony.”

Eliot growled in frustration but when Tony started calling out his name and asking if he was OK, he was next to him, holding his hand.

“Hey, I’m gonna have to take your earbud,” Eliot leaned close, brushing Tony’s cheeks with his lips, and palming the earbud in Tony’s ear. “They’re going to take you into surgery. I’ll give it back once you’re out. OK?”

“OK,” Tony gripped his hand tightly.

“You’re going to be OK,” Eliot told him soothingly.

“Wait. You’re _bleeding_ ,” Tony looked full of concern.

“Just a scratch,” Eliot tried to reassure him.

“You promised me you would keep me alive or die trying…”

“I did,” Eliot smiled. “And look. We’re both alive.”

Tony smiled and Eliot didn’t object when the paramedics started treating his shoulder, as long as Tony was within his reach.

There was a whirlwind of activity once they got to the hospital, and after a couple of hours, Eliot managed to break free, against medical advice, yadda yadda yadda. He wore the sling up until he turned the corner, and immediately went to wait for Tony to get through surgery. Over the comms, the team kept giving him updates on what was going on with Gibbs and the Iraqi antiquities.

“All items have been recovered,” Hardison reported. “Trent Kort gave Tony all the necessary information and Gibbs had NCIS working overtime to go to all the different coordinates and bring the items back to the Navy Yard. That’s NCIS Headquarters in DC.”

“Hopefully no one will steal it out from under them again,” Parker snarked.

“Agent Gibbs is personally overseeing the inventory and cataloguing of the items,” Sophie jumped in. “I don’t think any of the items are going to disappear this time.”

“What was it that Ziva David was trying to hide?” Eliot asked.

“Not sure yet,” Hardison sounded disgruntled at that.

At that moment, an older man, bespectacled and wearing a suit jacket complete with a bow tie appeared in the waiting room. He made straight for Eliot.

“Mr Spencer,” the gentleman smiled, speaking in a gentle Scottish burr. “I am Doctor Mallard, of NCIS. Agent Gibbs sent me to look into what’s going on with his friend, young Anthony.”

Eliot nodded, taking the proffered hand and shaking it.

“There, there,” the older man, Doctor Mallard, said as he gently patted Eliot’s hand. “I’m sure Anthony will be quite all right.”

Eliot nodded. He knew that. It wasn’t as serious a gunshot wound as it could have been. Hell, Eliot could probably have done field surgery on the man himself, if he had needed to. But the thought of Tony in any kind of pain caused a corresponding twinge in Eliot’s heart. Somehow, this Scottish doctor was able to see through his stoic façade and could see that Eliot was in need of reassurance.

“I shall return as soon as I can,” Mallard gave him a reassuring smile. “Hopefully with more information about Anthony.”

The man disappeared behind the doors that civilians were barred from entering, and Eliot began pacing. It took about a half hour before Mallard returned.

“He is out of surgery and in recovery right now,” Mallard went straight to the point.

“Oh thank god,” Parker sighed explosively over the comms.

“Please let your associates know that he will be right as rain. Everything went well, there were no complications. You should be able to see him once they have him settled in a room,” Mallard continued.

“Thank you,” Eliot smiled at him.

“Now, whilst we await him, why don’t you come with me and we will get ourselves a coffee and perhaps a small snack?” Mallard’s rheumy blue eyes were amused, twinkling behind his glasses. “You’ve lost some blood, too, so I hear. Let’s make sure you are in better shape for your reunion with young Anthony.”

Eliot was starting to protest, but somehow, the older man swept him away and he found himself sitting in a small café adjacent to the hospital.

“I would have taken you to the hospital cafeteria but let us just say that you would not thank me for that experience, Mr Spencer,” Mallard winked.

“Eliot, please,” Eliot grinned at him, sipping the coffee, and falling on the sandwich Mallard had gotten him. He was suddenly starving.

“Eliot,” Ducky smiled. “And you should address me as Ducky.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow.

“My given name is Donald, and well, with a last name like Mallard and a first name like Donald, it was inevitable that the moniker Ducky attached itself to my person,” Ducky rolled his eyes.

“Ducky it is then,” Eliot grinned. He looked at the extra cup of coffee set to the side. “You’re really into coffee, I guess?”

“I’m not,” Ducky corrected him primly, as he pointedly dunked the teabag in his steaming cup.

“Yeah? Who’s that for then?”

“Me,” Gibbs slipped into a seat and reached for the extra cup. He looked uncomfortable sitting in the café, Eliot guessed probably because Eliot had taken the seat with his back to the wall and the clear view of the café and Gibbs was forced to put his back to the door.

“Agent Gibbs,” Eliot nodded at him.

“Spencer,” Gibbs acknowledged him. “We know what the late Ziva David was after.”

“You found it?”

“Taped inside one of the artifacts,” Gibbs confirmed.

“What was it?”

Gibbs sighed. “Normally I would not be disclosing this information to you,” he made a face. “But I think, given that we dragged Tony into something that would’ve killed him if you hadn’t been there, I’ll make an exception.”

Eliot sat and listened as the former marine explained that they had found a USB drive that contained several lists of names. One contained only the names of what they had confirmed to be dead people, either of Somali descent, or with connections to Somalia. There were several other lists of names of such people, but these people were still alive, and Gibbs was working a joint operation with other alphabet agencies to identify and locate these people, now believed to be sleepers of some kind of terrorist cell. Gibbs read out some of the names, to see if Eliot knew them, but Eliot shook his head.

“Wait!” Hardison yelled in Eliot’s ear. “Those names, ask Gibbs to say them again.”

Eliot turned to Gibbs and asked him to repeat the names, which with a glare, the man did.

“Fuck! Tell Gibbs that they’re all connected to Saleem Ulman,” Hardison sounded excited.

“Do you know who Saleem Ulman is?” Eliot asked both Ducky and Gibbs.

They both shook their heads.

“My associate tells me that these names you’ve read out are connected to him,” Eliot explained.

“Tell them that Saleem Ulman was the head of a major Somali terrorist cell, and there was chatter that they’d captured Mossad agents. Including one Ziva David!”

Eliot relayed the information to Gibbs.

“Saleem Ulman was killed in an op that no government has taken credit for,” Hardison recited.

“Let me guess, whoever in Mossad decided to hide this was responsible for that raid,” Eliot ventured.

“Makes sense,” Nate agreed.

“And Mossad was active on US soil without clearing it with any of us,” Gibbs looked like he was gritting his teeth. “They killed one of these cells as retribution for whatever happened in Somalia.”

“But they weren’t going to tell you about any of the other sleeper cells,” Eliot raised an eyebrow. “The ones that they didn’t eliminate and could potentially endanger us if and when they were activated.”

“Motherfuckers,” Parker swore.

“And they tried to kill Tony,” Sophie added.

“I’m going to go and look into this,” Gibbs said. He held his hand out and gave Eliot a firm handshake. “Tell Tony I’ll swing by to get his statement about what happened today later. Make sure you use the identities you had on you when you give your statement.”

Eliot nodded.

“I have people keeping an eye out on the Macalusos in case they catch wind of Tony being here,” Gibbs clicked his tongue.

“I’ll take care of the Macalusos,” Eliot snarled.

Gibbs gave him a smile and a feral grin. “Good hunting, soldier.”

“You too, jarhead,” Eliot returned. “Call if you need us to do some digging without a warrant.” He slid a card into Gibbs’ hand.

The marine gave him a smile, slipped the card into his pocket, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, the Colonel Vance Gibbs references in this chapter is not NCIS's Leon Vance. It is Colonel Michael Vance of Leverage canon, who was once Eliot's boss. Information on him can be found [here](https://leverage.fandom.com/wiki/Michael_Vance).


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**_London, England (Two months later)_ **

[](https://i.imgur.com/nPmE0Ap.png)

Tony slowly came awake, warm and comfortable, buried under warm, cozy blankets and a quality mattress underneath him. It was odd to wake up feeling so content and relaxed, and it wasn’t even a surprise. He hadn’t felt this way for so long, and certainly not so consistently. Hell, had he ever been relaxed and contented? Probably not even when he was a child. Certainly not since his mother died.

He yawned and tried to stretch his body luxuriously, smiling when he felt his movements curtailed a little. Eliot Spencer was curled around him protectively, still asleep. He took a moment to just stare at the beautiful man sprawled practically on top of him. A small smile played at his lips as he just gazed at the man who had come barreling into his life and changed everything. If Hardison hadn’t kidnapped him to bring him to the team a couple of months ago, he would have bet that Eliot would have been the one to bring him in in some kind of Terminator “Come with me if you want to live” moment, which Tony liked to imagine every once in a while. That scenario, cheesy as it was, always put a smile on his face.

Things had changed for Tony in the last two months. Drastically. First, Ziva David shot him. He, Tony DiNozzo, had gotten shot. And it hadn’t even been a mob hit. A Mossad assassin that had apparently been working some illegal, unsanctioned op had done it. A Mossad assassin! Like, seriously. What even was his life that he had fucking Mossad assassins running around trying to kill him. Eliot had saved him, he’d pushed him down, taking the bullet in his shoulder before it had gone through to hit Tony in the abdomen. And then, out of nowhere, like it happened in the movies, Gibbs had ridden in like the cavalry and shot and killed her from his own sniper vantage point. He’d come in, waved his hands and made everything look official and aboveboard while keeping both Tony’s and Eliot’s real names out of it.

The results of the return of the stolen Iraqi artifacts and the intel hidden within ended up creating far-reaching ripples, too. Eli David had been removed as the Director of Mossad for the fact that he had masterminded this whole thing that had killed many people, including the ICE agent, as retaliation for what had happened to his daughter, Ziva. And Ziva was the same woman who had shot Tony, luckily not killing him. It was so convoluted that Tony wasn’t sure he quite understood all the nuances. But what it boiled down to was that Mossad had information on several dangerous sleeper cells and did not share this with their US counterparts, _and_ they had conducted unsanctioned ops on US soil and killed US citizens who weren’t connected to the sleeper cells in order to hide what they were doing. The Israeli government hadn’t wanted to strain their relationship with the US government, and the best way to fix it was to take Eli David out of the position of leading Mossad, since he’d been the one secretly operating and coordinating the illegal acts of revenge from behind the scenes. Tony didn’t know what had happened to Eli David, but Eliot assured him that he was somewhere where he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone anymore, and that was enough for Tony.

That was the thing. Tony felt like he should be more circumspect about trusting Eliot so quickly, but honestly, he trusted the man. With his life, even. Eliot had promised him that he would protect Tony to his last breath, and he’d done that. He had no doubt that if Eliot hadn’t pushed him down, the shot would have been a kill shot and he would have been dead. But Eliot had saved him, and then Gibbs had saved them all and even legitimized what they were doing there.

All of this, and more, Tony learned when he woke up in the hospital, Eliot sitting at his bedside, holding his hand. Eliot helped him put the earbud back in so he could speak to everyone, and they filled him in on what he missed. Gibbs came by and they gave their statements, and then handed him his cell phone and Tony spoke to Franks for a few minutes. Gibbs actually hugged him and everything before he left that day. It was weird.

When Tony was stable, but not yet ready to be released from the hospital, Eliot disappeared for forty-eight hours, during which time Gibbs assigned security to watch him. Tony could hardly believe it when Eliot came back in, limping slightly, after forty-eight hours, with a split lip and traces of a black eye, but the biggest smile on his face. Gibbs, who had been taking a shift at being Tony’s personal security at the time, gave Eliot a questioning look.

“Is it done?” he’d asked cryptically.

“It’s done,” Eliot’s grin was feral and triumphant at the same time and made Tony’s heart jump in his chest.

“What’s done?” Tony asked.

“The Macalusos will no longer be troubling you,” Eliot told him.

“What? What did you do?” Tony’s eyes widened as he took in Eliot’s slightly disheveled appearance. “Are you OK? Shit, Eliot, what did you _do?_ ”

Eliot had sniffed and pulled up a chair, sitting down and casually leaning back in it. “I just had a little conversation with the Don,” he tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “First, I made sure he knew that you were innocent of what he thought you’d done, and that he should look elsewhere for the real culprit. And second, that you are now under my personal protection and he should worry about what I would do to him and his organization should anything at all happen to you, especially since he’s put a price on your head erroneously for all these years.”

“I just feel like I should point out that you sound like a mobster yourself now, Eliot,” Parker commented over the comms.

Tony had stared at him, heart pounding. “What the hell does that even mean?” he demanded. “I don’t understand.”

“Means you’re free, Tony,” Eliot took his hand, squeezing it. “You’re free again. You don’t have to hide yourself unless you want to. You can be Tony DiNozzo again, if you want to. And if you don’t, and you just want to go back to being Rainier, or whoever the hell else, you can do so without worrying and looking over your shoulder.”

“Macaluso just took your word for it?” Tony had to ask.

“What can I say?” Eliot grinned. “I can be persuasive if I need to be.”

“Hells, yeah!” Hardison and the others were cheering in the background. Tony grinned, even though yes, he did still jump a little when they chimed in via comms.

Gibbs chuckled at that, and that was when he gave Tony another hug and slapped Eliot heartily on his back before he left. Tony figured that was Gibbs way of telling him that he approved of Eliot, and that thought warmed his heart.

And the morning before he was released from the hospital, a tall woman, all tatted up with black lipstick, black hair in two pigtails and goth makeup, combat boots, the tiniest black skirt and a tight band t-shirt appeared. She might have been dressed interestingly but her smile was wide and genuine, her green eyes twinkling.

“I’m Abby,” she introduced herself, dimples creasing her cheeks. Her voice was deep and husky. “After all these years, it’s really nice to finally meet you in person. Even though we’ve never actually spoken, I’ve always felt like you were a really good friend to me.”

Tony found himself hugged almost to the point of suffocation, but he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back. She had been his only lifeline to his past for the longest time, and even though they had only communicated via coded text messages, she had been the one to help him through some tough times, whether she knew it or not. Having one person he could get in touch with who knew his real name had been everything to him. And even though Eliot had freed him from that prison that the Macalusos had made for him, he would never forget Abby or what she had done for him.

“I’m so happy that you’re safe again,” she whispered, kissing his cheek, and leaving a perfect mark of her lips in black lipstick on his cheek.

“Thanks for looking out for me all these years,” Tony whispered back. “Tell McGee that too.”

“You could just call him and tell him yourself now,” Abby suggested.

Tony gave her a one shoulder shrug. “I never ever communicated directly with McGeek. Only you.”

“You promised me you’d take me out clubbing one day,” Abby laughed, pulling back and looking him up and down appreciatively. “I’m here to collect.”

And when Eliot had glared at her, she grinned at him, threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek, too. “You have to come, too, of course. You’ll have to make sure Tony here doesn’t get swept off his feet by anyone else,” she winked slyly at him, making the man blush in the most adorable way.

In the background, Tony could hear Hardison crowing about how he’d been right, and that Abigail Sciuto _was_ in fact an associate of Tony DiNozzo. Tony rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

Eliot had taken him back to his safe house after being discharged from the hospital. The rest of Eliot’s team were there to welcome him back, and then one by one they said goodbye and disappeared. Tony realized that they had removed the extra beds in the living room and replaced them with a comfortable living room set. The screens had been left set up the way Hardison liked them, though. And for the first time in days, Tony was without an earbud. For some reason, he felt a little naked without it now.

Nate and Sophie left first, Sophie kissing his cheek and hugging him and Nate giving him a nod and a small smile. Hardison had to physically remove Parker, and Tony promised that he would keep in touch and that he would fill her in on his Mona Lisa job if she would buy him a drink. Finally, Eliot was the only one left in the apartment with him.

“What will you do now that you can be whomever you like, even yourself again?” Eliot had asked him.

Tony was sitting on the couch, staring at Eliot. He was befuddled and confused, completely undecided about what he was going to do next. His old self would have gone back to ground, chosen a new cover identity, and gone to inhabit a life that wasn’t his own. But that was then. Now, he was a free man. It had been so long since he’d been that, been in control of his own destiny. He’d been happy in college, far from his father’s influence, doing what he wanted, being who he was instead of who Father had expected him to be, or rebelling against what Father’s expectations were. Then he’d had to go into hiding and he’d never been able to be himself for years. And now that the Macalusos were no longer his problem, he was free again. But free to do what, exactly?

“You could go back and do the police academy like you meant to do, if you were so inclined,” Eliot suggested. “You could go be a cop like you’d wanted to after college.”

Tony bit his lip and thought about that for a moment before he shook his head. “I’m too old to be a rookie cop now,” he shrugged. “Can you imagine the kind of hazing the ‘old guy’ would get?”

“You’re not _old_ ,” Eliot’s lip curled, and he looked like he would personally take out anyone who insulted Tony or dared to haze him.

“A decade older than I was when I first signed up for it,” Tony grimaced.

“You don’t have to be a cop if you don’t want to,” Eliot conceded. “Even though you’d be great at it.”

“Thanks,” Eliot’s support made Tony’s face heat up. “Gibbs offered me a job,” he said slowly.

“NCIS?”

“He said he didn’t waste good,” Tony grinned. “I think I could be a _Very_ Special Agent.”

“You’d be the most special agent,” Eliot agreed.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for law enforcement anymore, though,” Tony sighed. “All those years of being a criminal, you know?”

“Please. I know a criminal when I see one, and you’re definitely not one, no matter how many things you’ve stolen,” Eliot rolled his eyes.

“But I’ve been on the wrong side of the law for too many years.”

“You’d know how criminals worked. You’d be great at catching them,” Eliot said staunchly.

Tony thought Eliot’s faith in him was sweet. “What if I had to catch the kind of bad guys that you are?” he grinned. “I’d be a terrible cop. I’d let you go, law or no law. Because you might break the law, but you’re doing it to help someone the law couldn’t help.”

Eliot grinned back. “Yeah. Kind of why I can’t go back to my old life, serving Uncle Sam. I’m not the same person anymore, and frankly, I don’t want to be. I like who I am now, and I like what our team does.”

Tony nodded. “I don’t really know who I am anymore, though.”

“Then you should find that out,” Eliot smiled. “So, let me ask the question differently. What do you, Tony DiNozzo, _want_ to do?”

Tony’s hand immediately went into his pocket and he fingered his mother’s compass. This compass had been his constant companion since his childhood. He pulled it out and showed it to Eliot.

“I want to do something my mother never got to do,” he told him.

“What’s that?” Eliot asked.

“I told you that this compass belonged to a vanquished enemy of an ancestor of mine?”

“Uh-huh,” Eliot’s grunt was somehow sexy. Tony didn’t quite know how he did that.

“He was a captain of the Royal Navy, English to the core,” Tony traced those old initials for the millionth time. “Alexander Westher. His ship was captured by a Spanish privateer whose name was Amaro Pargo.”

Eliot frowned. “I feel like I know that name,” he murmured.

“He was born Amaro Rodríguez-Felipe y Tejera Machado,” Tony recited. “Better known as Amaro Pargo. He was Spanish, and he lived in the late seventeenth to mid eighteenth century.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, one of the famous Spanish corsairs.”

“You’ve heard of him,” Tony was both surprised and pleased at that.

“Yeah, well, I had a buddy who was actively looking for his lost…” understanding came into Eliot’s eyes. “You want to look for Amaro Pargo’s lost treasure.”

“I do,” Tony grinned, nodding. “But I want to do it for my mother.”

“Why did your mother want to find a lost treasure?” Eliot looked puzzled. “She was born into English nobility, right?”

“It’s a personal thing,” Tony agreed. “Amaro Pargo had an illegitimate son, Manuel de la Trinidad Rodríguez. His mother had been Cuban, and that’s where he was raised. After Pargo’s death he tried to claim his share of Pargo’s estate, which had been quite large. Privateering was quite profitable, as you might imagine. But he was sent away with nothing. He did, however, have this compass, once belonging to Alexander Westher, and confiscated by Amaro Pargo, which he then gave to his favorite daughter as a wedding present when she married one of my Paddington ancestors.”

Eliot’s eyebrows went up. “You’re a direct descendant of Amaro Pargo?”

“In the flesh,” Tony grinned. “The Paddingtons handed this knowledge down from generation to generation, and we liked to tell all the stories about him and passed them down to all of us over the years. Nothing we wanted to be known to the riff raff, of course, because why would any of the Lords of Paddington want to be associated to a Spaniard, and a privateer who had profited by going up against the British Navy.”

“Of course not,” Eliot grinned.

“But we were proud of who we were, and we liked to make sure we all knew where we came from,” Tony shrugged. “My mother told me all the stories she knew about Amaro Pargo. She loved the mythology. And she always wanted to find his lost treasure. It was our inheritance, she used to claim. It was ours by right, since we were never given what Manuel had been owed, given that he had been Amaro Pargo’s son. And she always thought that Pargo must have known that his son Manuel would never get anything from the family after he died, no matter what his wishes might have been. But he gave Manuel the compass and told him it would show him the way. My mother always thought that that was significant.”

“The compass is a clue,” Eliot’s eyes brightened.

“I’ve been trying to look for the treasure, here and there,” Tony felt his cheeks heat up, embarrassed at confessing this. He had never told anybody this. He’d never even told his Uncle Clive that not only did he know about their relationship to Amaro Pargo, but that his mother had filled his brain with all of those old stories and given him the heirloom compass before she died. “But I was always distracted, always trying to make sure that I didn’t give myself away. Didn’t get the Macalusos on my tail again. But it was my favorite hobby, when I was able to find the time to look for it.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

“My mother always wanted to find the treasure,” Tony smiled sadly. “Marrying my father kind of derailed her original plans. So yeah. I’d like to finally do that for her.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Eliot smiled.

Tony looked at Eliot’s face, and he seemed a little sad now. Tony knew how he felt. He didn’t want to part from Eliot, either.

“Maybe you can come with me?” the words slipped out, even though Tony had never meant to say them out loud.

Eliot raised an eyebrow.

Well, Tony told himself. In for a penny, in for a pound. Right? “I would love the company,” Tony’s smile was wobbly. “If Nate can spare you for a few weeks, of course.”

“Really?” Eliot asked, blue eyes wide. “You want me to come with you?”

“Really,” Tony shrugged. “I really like you, Eliot. I know that much. I don’t want to just walk away from you the way I’ve walked away from everyone else. I’d like to see what we could be together. If you want to that is.”

“I really like you, too,” Eliot growled, in that sexy, husky way of his.

“Is that a yes?”

“If I come treasure hunting with you, would you think about coming back to Oregon with me?” Eliot asked, his voice soft. “I have a microbrewery to go back to, and I think we could find this treasure and get back before Hardison runs it into the ground. Or serves subpar food.”

Even though Tony wasn’t wearing earbuds right now, already he could hear Hardison’s sharp “Hey!” in his head at Eliot’s comment, making him chuckle. “I’ll think about it,” he said, making it sound like a promise.

And yes, it had taken them a couple of months, during which time he had had to accompany Eliot back to Oregon and helped the team on a couple of jobs, but they had finally found what Tony had been looking for, the treasure of Amaro Pargo. It was so much more than he’d ever expected, and yet it wasn’t quite enough, bittersweet as it was without his mother alive to share in the discovery with him. But Eliot had been there with him, and Eliot had understood his joy and his sorrow. He’d finished the quest his mother never got to begin.

And later today, they would see Tony’s Uncle Clive to let him know that Tony was safe, no longer on the run, and that their family’s treasure had been found.

After that, Tony thought, he might as well go back to Portland with Eliot. The microbrewery menu was wonderful, and Tony had enjoyed cooking with Eliot, who approached his head chef duties with the same intensity as he approached his protective detail duties. At this point, Tony couldn’t imagine his life without the quiet, intense man by his side anymore. Eliot had allowed him to re-learn who he was and find out what he did and didn’t like to do. Eliot had given him the confidence to wear his own name and his own face again, although he’d asked McGee to keep the facial blurring program that he’d developed for Tony going. There was no need to make himself completely vulnerable now, was there? But yeah, for the most part, he’d just been Tony DiNozzo again. And it had been really nice.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Eliot’s voice broke into his thoughts. The man yawned and snuggled into Tony’s body. “What’cha thinking about, darlin’?”

“Everything,” Tony smiled, pushing Eliot’s hair out of his face. Eliot turned his head and kissed Tony’s palm.

“You nervous about seeing your uncle?”

“A little,” Tony admitted.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy you’re safe, and don’t have to worry about the mob gunning for you,” Eliot proceeded to drop soft kisses along his jaw.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony gasped as Eliot began sucking on his neck. “Thank you again, for that.”

Eliot made a noise that somehow translated to ‘get over it’. He was a talented communicator in that way. “You found the long-lost family treasure.”

“ _We_ found it,” Tony smiled.

“It’ll all work out with your uncle.” Eliot kissed him good morning but didn’t move a muscle, sighing contentedly as he snuggled into Tony’s body. But Tony could tell that he was holding back somewhat.

Tony knew that Eliot was trying hard not to pressure him and ask him what he wanted to do now that he had done what he’d wanted to do for so long. Eliot was trying hard to be supportive and to let him go, if that was what Tony wanted him to do. Eliot was giving him a _choice_ , something Tony had not been given in the longest time.

“I was thinking,” Tony ran his fingers through Eliot’s hair. “Even though it rains a lot, I kind of like Portland.”

“Yeah?” Eliot brightened at that.

“Yeah. I could help out in the kitchen, if a certain draconian head chef would hire me,” Tony offered. “I’m handy with a knife, and I know how to make a beurre blanc, and I could add some new specials to your menu.”

“I do love your gazpacho andaluz,” Eliot nodded thoughtfully.

“Like that, yeah,” Tony grinned.

“Nate’s been wanting me to ask you to join the team for real,” Eliot gave him a small smile, caressing his face with the back of his hand. “He really liked it when you came with me and helped out on the couple of jobs we did. I didn’t want to pressure you. But you can if you want to. I’d love having you on the team, not just at the Brew Pub, but also in our other life.”

“Your secret life,” Tony blew out a long breath. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d be nice to help people. Even if I’m not going to do it as a cop.”

“You were already helping people before you met us,” Eliot told him.

“Yeah,” Tony smiled. “Yeah. I’d like to go back to Portland with you, now that we’re done with this little project of mine.”

“Good,” Eliot’s smile was huge and absolutely beautiful. “I’ll give Hardison a heads up so he can be ready. Parker’d throw him over for you.”

Tony chuckled at that. He was fond of the blonde. “She’d have to fight you for me, though, and my money’s on you.”

Eliot’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I already cleared a space for a baby grand at my place. You could move in with me if you want.”

Tony stared at him in shock. “Were you expecting me to say yes?”

“I was hoping you would,” Eliot’s voice broke a little at that.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Tony smiled, and he realized that he was happy. Ecstatic, even. He was going to start a new life, yet again, but this time he was going to get to be himself, and he wasn’t going to have to do it alone. “I really would.”

Eliot lit up, so brightly, that Tony was dazzled by him. “We’d better stop by Málaga on our way back to Portland.”

“Málaga? Why?”

“We should go get your cat.”

“My cat? I don’t have a cat.”

“The feral cat that you used to let into your apartment in Málaga.”

“Oscar?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s not my cat.”

“Uh-huh,” Eliot’s grin was disbelieving.

Tony rolled his eyes. He had missed that little black and white bugger. “It should really creep me out how much you know about me,” Tony grumbled.

“Blame Hardison for oversharing.”

Tony grinned. “How do you even know the cat’s still there.”

“I’ve been paying your crew of urchins,” Eliot cleared his throat, color rising in his cheeks. “They’ve been taking care of the cat for you.”

“You’ve been paying my little crew?” Tony gaped at him.

“They provided the best security ever, one that even Hardison couldn’t hack,” Eliot shrugged.

“They did,” Tony agreed. “Fuck, Eliot. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Well,” Eliot moved Tony’s hand lower. “I can think of all kinds of things you can do to thank me.”

“Thank you,” Tony kissed him, smiling and joyful, and filled with hope for his new life. “Thank you.”

[](https://i.imgur.com/a9RtynU.png)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm running behind and I have to get this posted today to fulfill the challenge so I'll come back tomorrow and give you a more detailed end notes including music etc. For now, thanks to [Red_Pink_Dots](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Pink_Dots/pseuds/Red_Pink_Dots) for her awesome artwork prompt, her friendship and her everything. You are always my Elton! And huge thanks to [jesco0307](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesco0307/pseuds/jesco0307) for her outstanding work betaing this story. Thank you so much!
> 
> And of course huge thanks to Jacie for organizing this challenge. More notes tomorrow, I promise! Hope y'all enjoyed the story. Stay safe!!  
> -j  
> xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> jx80 - 26 May 2020
> 
> Hi y'alls! OK so it's the day after my story had to be posted for the [2020 NCIS Reverse Bang Challenge](https://ncis-bang.livejournal.com/92131.html) and I got the story posted in its entirety yesterday! I have made no edits to the story, but I wanted to finish what I didn't get to do yesterday which was the end notes. To recap, I claimed [Red_Pink_Dots'](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Pink_Dots/pseuds/Red_Pink_Dots) [original artwork prompt](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/solariana/7360051/47477/47477_original.png) and it inspired this very AU story. As I said in the beginning notes, I did use several different canon NCIS storylines with the timelines all jumbled up in this story, but the Leverage canon timelines have remained intact. In addition, this story also fulfills [Challenge 36: Law Enforcement AU](https://whatif-au.livejournal.com/81653.html) of the [What If Community](https://whatif-au.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal.
> 
> I watched all five seasons of Leverage all over again as part of my research, as well as several NCIS episodes. Here are some links to the resources I used as part of my research for this story:  
> * [Leverage Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leverage_\(TV_series\))  
> * [Information on Eliot Spencer](https://leverage.fandom.com/wiki/Eliot_Spencer)  
> * [Information on Michael Vance, Eliot's old boss](https://leverage.fandom.com/wiki/Michael_Vance)  
> * [Michael Rivkin wiki which had the details of the Mossad bits of the plot](https://ncisla.fandom.com/wiki/Michael_Rivkin)  
> * [Amaro Pargo Wikipedia - he was real](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amaro_Pargo)  
> * [Other lost treasures I considered for the story](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_missing_treasures)
> 
> Here is a list of the music I listened to while writing this:  
> * [Build Me Up Buttercup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvluBVhfGcw) (The Foundations)  
> * [Lonely No More](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7spBU4Yv8fE) (Rob Thomas)  
> * [Dis tout sans rien dire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IANeJEmDUD4&feature=youtu.be) (Daniel Belanger) - this was the song Jean-Paul Rainier sang  
> * [Bailando](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUsoVlDFqZg) (Enrique Iglesias ft Descemer Bueno, Gente de Zona) - for some Spanish ambience  
> * [Evolution of Rihanna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-NAJn1EsLg) (Pentatonix)  
> * [If You're Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbk6a3Rjv6Q) (Matchbox Twenty, Social Distance Sessions)  
> * [The Reason](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VupvkduFo3Y) (Tori Kelley covering Hoobastank, Quarantea with Tori)  
> * [The chase music that Hardison hums](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ebxwkKD2IE)
> 
> This story would be so much less without the work of [jesco0307](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesco0307/pseuds/jesco0307) who betaed this story. Thank you, my friend. I couldn't have done it without you. ❤️ Any errors remaining are all mine. Of course, thanks to Red_Pink_Dots for the amazing prompt, the extra artwork, the feedback, her friendship and support. You are as always, my Elton, ma cherie. It's always a blast to collaborate with you.
> 
> Thank you also to [Jacie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacie/pseuds/Jacie) for organizing this challenge! You are the best!
> 
> It has been really difficult to get motivated to write during this time of pandemic. We are all healthy in our house, staying home and trying to stay safe. Unfortunately ours is one of the millions of households unemployed during this time, but we are together and we are healthy, so we are thankful for what we do have. It's a difficult time all around for so many people. I hope we can all try to do our best for each other. Stay safe, stay healthy, wash your hands, put on your masks when you are outside. We must do all we can to make a difference.
> 
> Take care y'alls. I hope you enjoyed the story ❤️❤️  
> -j  
> xoxo

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for The Where’s Waldo Job by jane_x80](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339271) by [Red_Pink_Dots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Pink_Dots/pseuds/Red_Pink_Dots)




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